"Oh, yes. I dance well,--like those white fluttering butterflies,--as if I were au gré du vent."
"That would not be dancing well."
"It would not be dancing well to be at the will of the wind, but it is perfection to appear so."
"The dance needs the expression of the dancer's will. It is breathing sculpture. It is mimic life beyond all other arts."
"Then well I love to dance. And I do dance well. Wait,--you shall see."
He detained her.
"Be still, little maid!" he said, and again drew her beside him, though she still continued standing.
At this moment the captain approached.
"What cheer?" asked Mr. Raleigh.
"No cheer," he answered, gloomily, dinting his finger-nails into his palm. "The planks forward are already hot to the hand. I tremble at every creak of cordage, lest the deck crash in and bury us all."