re you really going to throw us over like this?" demanded Portlaw as
the young men turned back together across the deck.

"Got to do it," said Hamil cheerfully, offering his hand in adieu.

"Don't plead necessity," insisted Portlaw. "You've just landed old man
Cardross, and you've got the Richmond parks, and you're going to sting
me for more than I'm worth. Why on earth do you cut and run this way?"

"No man in his proper senses really knows why he does anything.
Seriously, Portlaw, my party is ended--"

"Destiny gave Ulysses a proud party that lasted ten years; wasn't it
ten, Malcourt?" demanded Portlaw. "Stay with us, son; you've nine years
and eleven months of being a naughty boy coming to you--including a few
Circes and grand slams--"

"He's met his Circe," cut in Malcourt, leaning languidly over the rail;
"she's wearing a scarlet handkerchief this season--"

Portlaw, laughing fatly, nodded. "Louis discovered your Circe through
the glasses climbing into your boat--"

"What a busy little beast you are, Malcourt," observed Hamil, annoyed,
glancing down at the small boat alongside.

"'Beast' is good! You mean the mere sight of her transformed Louis into
the classic shote," added Portlaw, laughing louder as Hamil, still
smiling through his annoyance, went over the side. And a moment later
the gig shot away into the star-set darkness.

From the bridge Wayward wearily watched it through his night glasses;
Malcourt, slim and graceful, sat on the rail and looked out into the
Southern dusk, an unlighted cigarette between his lips.

"That kills our four at Bridge," grumbled Portlaw, leaning heavily
beside him. "We'll have to play Klondike and Preference now, or call in
the ship's cat.... Hello, is that you, Jim?" as Wayward came aft,
limping a trifle as he did at certain times.

"That girl had a good figure--through the glasses. I couldn't make out
her face; it was probably the limit; combinations are rare," mused
Malcourt. "And then--the fog came! It was like one of those low-down
classical tricks of Jupiter when caught philandering."

Portlaw laughed till his bulky body shook. "The Olympian fog was
wasted," he said; "John Garret Hamil 3d still preserves his nursery
illusions."

"He's lucky," remarked Wayward, staring into the gloom.

"But not fortunate," added Malcourt; "there's a difference between luck
and fortune. Read the French classics."

Wayward growled; Malcourt, who always took a malicious amusemen