f it subsided steadily till, as the seafaring phrase has
it, the wind went down with the sun. Calm ensued. Lanyard woke up the
next morning to view from his stateroom deadlights vistas illimitable
of flat blue flawed by hardly a wrinkle; only by watching the horizon
was one aware of the slow swell of the sea, its sole perceptible
motion. And all day long the Sybarite trudged on an even keel with only
the wind of her way to flutter the gay awnings of the quarterdeck,
while the waters sheared by her stem ran down her sides hissing
resentment of this violation of their absolute tranquillity.

Also, the sun made itself felt, electric fans buzzed everywhere, and
perspiring in utter indolence beneath the awnings, one thought in
sympathy of those damned souls below, in the hell of the stoke-hole.

At luncheon Liane Delorme appeared in a summery toilette that would
have made its mark on the beach of Deauville.

Voluntary or enforced, her period of retreat had done her good. Making
every allowance for the aid of art, the woman looked years younger than
when Lanyard had last seen her. Nobody would ever have believed her a
day older than twenty-five, no one, that is to say, who had not watched
youth ebb from her face and leave it grey and waste with premature
winter, as Lanyard had that morning when he told her of the death of de
Lorgnes in the restaurant of the Buttes Montmartre.

Liane herself had long since put quite out of mind that mauvais quart
d'heure. Her present serenity was as flawless as the sea's, though,
unlike the sea, she sparkled. She was as gay as any school-girl--though
any school-girl guilty, or even capable, of a scintilla of the amusing
impropriety of her badinage would have merited and won instant
expulsion.

She inaugurated without any delay a campaign of conquest extremely
diverting to observe. To Lanyard it seemed that her methods were crude
and obvious enough; but it did something toward mitigating the
long-drawn boredom of the cruise to watch them work out, as they seemed
to invariably, with entire success; and then remark the insouciance
with which, another raw scalp dangling from her belt, Liane would
address herself to the next victim.

Mr. Swain was the first to fall, mainly because he happened to be
present at luncheon, it being Mr. Collison's watch on the bridge. Under
the warmth of violet eyes which sought his constantly, drawn by what
one was left to infer was an irresistible attraction, hi