Coming to the rail, she leaned and looked out toward the coast of Crete, where silver tracings in the blue marked the mountain peaks; then, shivering slightly, and wrapping her embroidered shawl more closely about her shoulders, she retraced her steps.
Not a yard from where I sat, she dropped a little silk handkerchief on the deck!
How my heart leapt at that! the rest was a magical whirl; and ten seconds later I was chatting with her.
She spoke fluent French, but little English.
She appealed to me in a way that was new and almost irresistible; it was an appeal quite Oriental, sensuous—indescribable. I just wanted to take her in my arms and kiss those tantalizing lips; talking seemed a waste of time. Of course, I cannot hope to make you understand; but it was extraordinary. I felt that I was losing my head; the glances of those long dark eyes were setting me on fire.
Suddenly, she terminated this, our first tête-à-tête. She raised her finger to her veiled lips and glided away into the shadows like a phantom. A sentence died, unfinished, on my tongue. I turned, and looked over my shoulder.
Gad! I got a fright! A most hideous Oriental of some kind, having only one eye but that afire with malignancy, was watching me from where he stood half concealed by a boat.
My lily of Damascus was guarded!
Humming, with an assumption of unconcern, I strolled away and joined the dancers below.