She shook her head.
"Look though," said he. "You do not look in just the correct direction. Please. Ahead, to the left. No; away a little from the ship—a little; not too much—where we have hit the water and the water recedes from us. It is beautiful—beautiful! See!"
The great boat rose on a sudden wave. Von Klausen gripped the rail with one slim hand; the other, its arm around her waist, he placed about her farther arm.
"Now!" he said, and, letting go of the rail, pointed.
Her eyes followed his finger, and there, shining green and yellow, now clear, now opalescent, from burning cores to nebulous edges, she saw what seemed to be live stars smouldering and flaming in the hearts of the waves.
"I see," she said. "It is beautiful—beautiful!"
She was, she suddenly realised, but repeating his own phrase. Why should she not? The phrase was commonplace enough; besides, the phosphorus was beautiful.
Then she became conscious of his arm about her, became conscious that this arm about her had not been unpleasant; was indignant with him, silently, and indignant with herself; made certain, in her own mind, that he had put his arm around her waist only that he might protect her—and thus soon left him and went to bed without waking Jim.
She opened her eyes after an unquiet night, to find that Stainton was somewhat improved, though too mindful of his experience of the preceding day to trust himself on deck.
"I'll wait," he decided, "till to-morrow or this evening. Yes, I think I shall manage it this evening. I'm really in good shape, but I must have eaten something that didn't agree with me. You go up, Muriel. If you see that Austrian fellow, don't forget to give him my compliments and tell him I'll probably have the pleasure of meeting him this evening. What did you say he was?"