the observation and the opinion of the passengers.  They weren’t boy and girl; they had a certain social perspective in their eye.  I was meanwhile at any rate in no possession of the details of that behaviour which had made them—­according to the version of my good friends in the saloon—­a scandal to the ship; for though I had taken due note of them, as will already have been gathered, I had taken really no such ferocious, or at least such competent, note as Mrs. Peck.  Nevertheless the probability was that they knew what was thought of them—­what naturally would be—­and simply didn’t care.  That made our heroine out rather perverse and even rather shameless; and yet somehow if these were her leanings I didn’t dislike her for them.  I don’t know what strange secret excuses I found for her.  I presently indeed encountered, on the spot, a need for any I might have at call, since, just as I was on the point of going below again, after several restless turns and—­within the limit where smoking was allowed—­as many puffs at a cigar as I cared for, I became aware of a couple of figures settled together behind one of the lifeboats that rested on the deck.  They were so placed as to be visible only to a person going close to the rail and peering a little sidewise.  I don’t think I peered, but as I stood a moment beside the rail my eye was attracted by a dusky object that protruded beyond the boat and that I saw at a second glance to be the tail of a lady’s dress.  I bent forward an instant, but even then I saw very little more; that scarcely mattered however, as I easily concluded that the persons tucked away in so snug a corner were Jasper Nettlepoint and Mr. Porterfield’s intended.  Tucked away was the odious right expression, and I deplored the fact so betrayed for the pitiful bad taste in it.  I immediately turned away, and the next moment found myself face to face with our vessel’s skipper.  I had already had some conversation with him—­he had been so good as to invite me, as he had invited Mrs. Nettlepoint and her son and the young lady travelling with them, and also Mrs. Peck, to sit at his table—­and had observed with pleasure that his seamanship had the grace, not universal on the Atlantic liners, of a fine-weather manner.

“They don’t waste much time—­your friends in there,” he said, nodding in the direction in which he had seen me looking.

“Ah well, they haven’t much to lose.”

“That’s what I mean.  I’m told she hasn’t.”

I wanted to say something exculpatory, but scarcely knew what note to strike.  I could only look vaguely about me at the starry darkness and the sea that seemed to sleep.  “Well, with these splendid nights and this perfect air people are beguiled into late hours.”

“Yes, we want a bit of a blow,” the Captain said.

I demurred.  “How much of one?”

“Enough to clear the decks!”