“Did—­did she buy your steamer-coat?” asked Percival.

Bobby’s laugh rang out contagiously.

“Isn’t it a tulip?  I knew it was wrong the minute I came on board and saw Elise Weston’s.  Honest, now, have I got anything else as bad as that?”

“No, oh, no; I was a beastly cad to mention it.  You are most awfully charming in anything you choose to wear.  But as a matter of fact, I do like you best in white, with your hair low, as it is now.”

“Hair low, shoes high, all in white.  Anything else you’d like?” All trace of tears had vanished, and her eyes were dancing audaciously.

“Yes,” said Percival, leaning forward, “there is.”

At this critical juncture a well-built figure in a uniform started down the stairway above them, paused a moment unobserved, then quietly retraced his steps to the bridge.

“See here, I must be going,” said Bobby, rising abruptly.  “I promised to practise for the tableaux at ten, and it’s half-past now.  Say, you were a brick to brace me up!  I’m going to take your advice, too; you see if I don’t.  May I count on your help!”

“At your service,” said Percival, rising, and clasping the hand she held out.

The captain’s Chinese boy glided up unobserved and stood at attention.

“Captain say missy please come top-side right away.  Wantchee see Bird Island.”

Percival, still holding her hand, smilingly shook his head.

“Damn Bird Island!” he murmured softly.

VII

THE DAY THAT NEVER WAS

Of all the places in the world where a flirtation can germinate, blossom, and bear fruit overnight, an ocean-liner is the most propitious.  Two conventional human beings who in the city streets would pass each other with utter indifference will often drop a conscious lid over a welcoming eye when passing and repassing on the deck of a steamer.  When men and women are set adrift for four weeks, with thousands of miles of sparkling water separating them from the past and the present, and with nothing to do but observe one another, something usually happens.

The present voyage of the Saluria was no exception; in fact, it threatened to break all former records.  The love-epidemic started in the steerage, where a Dutch boy en route to Java developed a burning attachment for a young stewardess, and it extended to the bridge, where Captain Boynton frequently consigned his duties to the first officer in order to devote his energies to holding Mrs. Weston’s worsted.  When he was not holding the skein, he was holding the ball, and during the endless process of winding and unwinding he spun his own yarns, recalling tales of wild adventure that alternately shocked and fascinated his gentle listener.

The young people, meanwhile, were not by any means immune.  Elise Weston had discovered that the Scotchman’s voice blended perfectly with her own, and through endless practising of “Tales from Hoffman” they had arrived at a harmony that promised to be permanent.  Andy Black and Bobby Boynton romped through the days, apparently wasting little time on sentiment, but developing a friendship that might at any time become serious.