But an unforeseen incident occurred the night before the Saluria landed which caused him suddenly to change his plans.  He was just ready to go below for the night when an overmastering desire for one more word with Bobby seized him.  By a bit of Machiavellian strategy he had outwitted Andy that afternoon, and had her entirely to himself for three blissful hours.

It was in their old haunt behind the wind-shelter, and he had taken the opportunity, if not to “shatter her to bits,” at least “to remold her nearer to the heart’s desire.”  He had done it with consummate tact, and she had responded with adorable docility.  He never admired himself more than in the role of cicerone to a young and trusting maid.  By the subtlest methods he knew how to convey approval or disapproval of anything from a beaded slipper to a moral sentiment.  He could stir dormant ambition, rouse lagging courage, inspire patience, and all he demanded in return was unfaltering homage from the fair one.

In the present instance, however, the entire time was not devoted to correcting faults of manner and speech or to acquiring the higher Christian virtues.  It was incredible how many things they found to talk about, considering the fact that art, literature, music, the drama, foreign travel, and London gossip were not among them.  Bobby’s way of diving unexpectedly from the general into the personal made a tete-a-tete with her peculiarly exhilarating.

The trouble was that the more one had, the more one wanted, and going to bed now without a parting word seemed to Percival really more than he had a right to ask of himself.  He circled the deck several times in indecision, then he ascended the companionway and made his way aft.

A full moon hung high in the heavens, and a flood of silver poured in a dazzling stream across the level surface of the sea.  The quarter-deck, the white boats amidships, and all the brass work abaft the funnels reflected the radiance.

“See who is here!” cried the irrepressible Andy from an indistinguishable group that huddled together under steamer-rugs against the big blue-and-white smoke-stack.

“May I speak to Miss Boynton for a moment?” asked Percival, icily.

“I’m afraid I can’t get out,” said Bobby.  “Elise is sitting on my feet, and Andy and I’ve got on the same sweater.  There’s a place for you here, if you will come.”

It is really too undignified an act in the life of the Honorable Percival to chronicle, but before he had time to contradict his impulse, he had actually doubled up his long legs and crawled into the small space Bobby made for him beside her.  If she persisted in preferring this noisy bunch of inanity to a quiet stroll on the promenade-deck with him, then he supposed for the time being he must humor her.

Youth and love and moonlight at sea are a magic combination, however, and Percival soon decided that even though it was deuced uncomfortable to be huddled up like that, with both feet asleep, yet there were compensations.