“I’d like to see the yards, too, and the Usona,” he added.

“All right.  After you go to the hospital I’ll meet you at the yards at noon.  Now if you’ll come down-stairs with me, I’ll get my car and have you taken to the hospital first.”

We followed Marlowe into the elevator and rode down.  In the large parlor we saw that Marjorie Marlowe had joined a group of the guests, and the captain turned aside to introduce us.

Among them I noticed a striking-looking woman, somewhat older than Marjorie.  She turned as we approached and greeted the captain cordially.

“I’m so glad there was nothing serious this morning,” she remarked, extending her hand to him.

“Oh, nothing at all, nothing at all,” he returned, holding the hand, I thought, just a bit longer than was necessary.  Then he turned to us, “Miss Alma Hillman, let me present Professor Kennedy and Mr. Jameson.”

I was not so preoccupied in taking in the group that I did not notice that the captain was more than ordinarily attentive to her.  Nor can I say that I blamed him, for, although he might almost have been her father in age, there was a fascination about her that youth does not often possess.

Talking with her had been a young man, slender, good-looking, with almost a military bearing.

“Mr. Ogilvie Fitzhugh,” introduced Marjorie, seeing that her father was neglecting his duties.

Fitzhugh bowed and shook hands, murmured something stereotyped, and turned again to speak to Marjorie.

I watched the young people closely.  If Captain Marlowe was interested in Alma, it was more than evident that Fitzhugh was absolutely captivated by Marjorie, and I fancied that Marjorie was not averse to him, for he had a personality and a manner which were very pleasing.

As the conversation ran gaily on to the launching and the gathering party of notables who were expected that night and the next day, I noticed that a dark-eyed, dark-haired, olive-complexioned young man approached and joined us.

“Doctor Gavira,” said Marlowe, turning to us, his tone indicating that he was well acquainted about the hotel.  “He is our house physician.”

Gavira also was welcomed in the party, chatting with animation.  It was apparent that the physician also was very popular with the ladies, and it needed only half an eye to discern that Fitzhugh was jealous when he talked to Marjorie, while Marlowe but ill concealed his restlessness when Gavira spoke to Alma.  As for Alma, she seemed to treat all men impartially, except that just now it pleased her to bestow the favor of her attention on the captain.

Just then a young lady, all in white, passed.  Plainly she did not belong to the group, though she was much interested in it.  As his eye roved over the parlor, Gavira caught her glance and bowed.  She returned it, but her look did not linger.  For a moment she glanced sharply at Fitzhugh, still talking to Marjorie, then at Marlowe and Alma Hillman.  She was a very pretty girl with eyes that it was impossible to control.  Perhaps there was somewhat of the flirt in her.  It was not that that interested me.  For there was something almost akin to jealousy in the look she gave the other woman.  Marlowe was too engrossed to see her and she passed on slowly.  What did it mean, if anything?