Immediately he had allowed himself to be persuaded, Staff felt sure he
should not have agreed to change his seat to the table occupied by Mrs.
Ilkington's party, especially if he meant sincerely to try to do any
real work aboard the Autocratic; and it wasn't long after he had taken
his place for the first dinner that he was convinced that he had
blundered beyond remedy or excuse.
The table was round and seated seven, though when the party had
assembled there remained two vacant places. Staff was assigned the chair
on Mrs. Ilkington's right and was sensitive to a not over subtle
implication that his was the seat of honour. He would cheerfully have
exchanged it for a place on the lady's left, which would have afforded a
chance to talk to Miss Searle, to whom he earnestly desired to make an
explanation and such amends as she would permit. But a male person named
Bangs, endowed with impressive self-assurance, altogether too much
good-looks (measured by the standards of the dermatological institute
advertisements) and no excess baggage in the way of intellect, sat on
Mrs. Ilkington's left, with Miss Searle beyond him. The latter had
suffered Staff to be presented to her with (he fancied) considerable
repressed amusement. Not that he blamed her, but ...
His position was rendered unhappy to the verge of being impossible,
however, by the lady on his own right, a Mrs. Thataker: darkly
temperamental and buxom, a divorcee and (she lost no time in telling
him) likewise a playwright. True, none of her plays had ever been
produced; but that was indisputably due to a managerial conspiracy; what
she really needed was a friend at court--some clever man having "the ear
of the manager." (Staff gathered that a truly clever man could warm up a
play and pour it into the ear of the managers like laudanum and
sweet-oil.) With such a man, he was given to understand, Mrs. Thataker
wouldn't mind collaborating; she had manuscripts in her steamer-trunk
which were calculated to prove a number of things ...
And while he was easing away and preparing to run before the wind to
escape any such hideous complication, he was abruptly brought up
all-standing by the information that the colour of the lady's soul was
pink. She knew this to be a fact beyond dispute, because she never
could do her best work save when garbed exclusively in pink. She
enumerated several articles of wearing apparel not customarily discussed
between comparative strangers but which--always provided they were
pink--she held indispensable to the task of dramatic composition.
In his great agony, happening to glance in Miss Searle's direction, he
saw her with head bent and eyelids lowered, lips compressed, colour a
trifle heightened, shoulders suspiciously a-quiver.
Incongruously, the impression obtruded that they were unusually handsome
shoulders.
For that matter, she was an unusually handsome young woman: tall, fair,
with a face featured with faint, exquisite irregularity, brown eyes and
brows in striking contrast to the rich golden colour of her hair;
well-poised and balanced--sure but not too conscious of herself ...
Staff heard himself saying "Beg pardon?" to a third repetition of one of
Mrs. Thataker's gratuitous revelations.
At this he took fright, drew back into his reserve for the remainder of
the meal, and as soon as he decently could, made his excuses and fled to
join Iff in the smoking-room....
He found the little man indulging his two passions; he was drinking
whiskey-and-sodas and playing bridge, both in the most masterly fashion.
Staff watched the game a while and then, the opportunity offering, cut
in. He played till ten o'clock, at which hour, wearied, he yielded his
seat to another, leaving Mr. Iff the victor of six rubbers and twelve
whiskey-and-sodas. As Staff went out on deck the little man cut for the
seventh and ordered the thirteenth. Neither indulgence seemed to have
had any perceptible effect upon him.
Staff strolled forward, drinking in air that seemed the sweeter by
contrast with the reeking room he had just quitted. The wind had
freshened since nightfall; it blew strong and cool, but not keen. And
there was more motion in the seas that sang overside, wrapped in
Cimmerian blackness. The sky had become overcast; there were no stars:
only the 'longshore lights of Ireland twinkled, small, bright,
incredibly distant over the waters. The decks were softly aglow with
electric lights, lending a deeper shade of velvety denseness to the
night beyond the rails.
He hadn't moved far forward when his quick sight picked out the shimmer
of a woman's hair, like spun gold, about amidships in the rank of
deck-chairs. He made sure it was Miss Searle; and it was. She sat alone,
with none near her, her head resting against the back of the chair, her
face turned a trifle forward; so that she was unaware of his approach
until he stopped before her.
"Miss Searle--" he began diffidently.
She looked up quickly and smiled in what he thought a friendly way.
"Good evening," said she; and moved her body slightly in the deck-chair,
turning a little to the left as if expecting him to take the vacant
chair on that hand.
He did so without further encouragement, and abruptly found himself
wholly lacking words wherewith to phrase what he had in mind to say. In
such emergency he resorted to an old, tried and true trick of his and
began to talk on the first subject, unrelated to his dilemma, that
popped into his head.
"Are you a good sailor?" he enquired gravely.