al idea that he had a keen interest in life, and that the keenest
part of that interest was due to a profound instinctive desire to serve
these two beautiful benefactors of mankind--the idea apparently being that
the charming creatures had conferred a favour on the human race by
consenting to exist. He cooed round them, he offered them cushions, he
inquired after their physical condition, he expressed his fear lest the
cabins had not contained every convenience that caprice might expect. He
was excited; surely he was happy! Audrey persuaded herself that this must,
after all, be his true normal condition while aboard the yacht, and that
the ennui visible on his features a moment earlier could only have been
transient and accidental.

"I am sure the piano is as wonderful as all else on board," said Madame
Piriac.

"Do play!" he entreated. "I love to hear music here. My secretary plays
for me when I am alone."

"I, who do not adore music!" Madame Piriac protested against the
invitation. But she sat down on the clamped music stool and began a waltz.

"Ah!" said Mr. Gilman, dropping into a seat by Audrey. "I wish I danced!"

"But you don't mean to say you don't," said Audrey, with fascination. She
felt that she could fascinate him, and that it was her duty to fascinate
him.

Mr. Gilman responded to the challenge.

"I suppose I do," he said modestly. "We must have a dance on deck one
night. I'll tell my secretary to get the gramophone into order. I have a
pretty good one."

"How lovely!" Audrey agreed. "I do think the _Ariadne's_ the most heavenly
thing, Mr. Gilman! I'd no idea what a yacht was! I hope you'll tell me the
proper names for all the various parts--you know what I mean. I hate to
use the wrong words. It's not polite on a yacht, is it?"

His smile was entranced.

"You and I will go round by ourselves to-morrow morning, Mrs. Moncreiff,"
he said.

Just then the steward appeared with the whisky and soda, but Mr. Gilman
dismissed him with a sharp gesture, and he vanished back into the
unexplored parts of the vessel. The implication was that the society of
Audrey made whisky and soda a superfluity for Mr. Gilman. Although she was
so young, he treated her with exactly the same deference as he lavished on
Madame Piriac, indeed with perhaps a little more. If Madame Piriac was for
him the incarnation of sweetness and balm and majesty, so also was Audrey,
and Audrey had the advantage of novelty. She was growing,