bove her as
she dreamed. Presently the schoolmaster went below for tea, and she was
left alone. She had decided that she did not want tea; after this quiet
place the saloon seemed too noisy, and now that seven o'clock was
drawing nearer she was feeling rather frightened.

The gold in the air was collected into a great ball that turned crimson
in the west, touching the crests of the waves with red as though blood
had been splashed upon them, setting Marcella's hair afire, turning her
white frock rosy-pink. Two bells sounded, and the sea and the sky grew
deep blue, while shadows began to slink about the decks and stalk over
the water; grey veils fell over the western sky, and she sat up
straight, wondering where Louis was.

Quarter-past seven--twenty-past--and the quick twilight with its message
of melancholy was almost past. Three bells sounded, and on the upper
deck she saw the saloon passengers going in to dinner. Then she started
up.

"He said he was horribly shy and nervous--anyone can see he is, too. I
suppose he's frightened, now."

For a moment she stood leaning over the rail, her face turned towards
the stairway, waiting. Then her feet took her down the steps, along the
deck, past the engine-room towards the companion-way. Diddy and a young
man in white sat on the step of the cook's galley in a hot atmosphere
redolent of food; she was eating an orange. Under the steps Mr. Peters
and Mrs. Hetherington sat in shadow; further away, up the deck, the
young missionary had collected a group of children and women who were
singing "There's a Friend for Little Children" all out of tune. She
looked round almost motivelessly before she went below. A splash of
light and a volley of laughter from the bar broke through the hymn
singing. She turned quickly. Inside the bar, which was arranged like a
great window with sliding panels, stood a little man with bright black
eyes, wearing a white coat. Behind him were rows upon rows of bottles
and bright shining glasses; a cash register was on the counter. Leaning
against it, his face amazingly merry, his eyes shining, was Louis,
talking volubly without the suspicion of a stammer. In his hand was a
tumbler.

Marcella felt her knees getting weak, though she scarcely realized that
she was frightened; she felt that there was going to be a fight of some
sort, though she did not rightly realize her enemy. Then, justly or
unjustly, her fears crystallized and she had something tangible