She opened her hands expressively. "I've always been lucky.... Besides,
if I never see it again, it'll come back to me this way or that--in
advertising, for one."
"Isn't that dodge pretty well worked out with the newspapers? It seems
to me that it has come to that, of late; or else the prime donne have
taken to guarding their valuables with greater care."
"Oh, that makes no difference. With another woman it might, but I"--she
shrugged--"I'm Alison Landis, if you please. The papers won't neglect
_me_. Besides, Max can do much as he likes with them."
"Have you--?"
"Of course--by wireless, first thing this morning."
"But you promised--"
"Don't be tiresome, Staff. I bought this necklace on Max's suggestion,
as an advertisement--I meant to wear it in _A Single Woman_; that alone
would help make our play a go. Since I can't get my advertising and have
my necklace, too, why, in goodness' name, mayn't I get what I can out of
it?"
"Oh, well ..."
Staff abandoned argument and resting his forearms on the rail, stared
sombrely out over the darkling waters for a moment or two.
This was at night, during an intermission in a dance on deck which had
been arranged by special permission of the weather--the latter holding
very calm and warm. Between halves Staff had succeeded in disentangling
Alison from a circle of admirers and had marched her up to the
boat-deck, where there was less light--aside from that furnished by an
obliging moon--and more solitude.
Under any other circumstances Staff would have been enchanted with the
situation. They were quite alone, if not unobserved; and there was magic
in the night, mystery and romance in the moonlight, the inky shadows,
the sense of swift movement through space illimitable. Alison stood
with back to the rail so near him that his elbow almost touched the
artificial orchid that adorned her corsage. He was acutely sensitive of
her presence, of the faint persistent odour of her individual perfume,
of the beauty and grace of her strong, free-limbed body in its
impeccable Paquin gown, of the sheen of her immaculate arms and
shoulders and the rich warmth of her face with its alluring, shadowed
eyes that seemed to mock him with light, fascinating malice, of the
magnetism of her intense, ineluctable vitality diffused as naturally as
sunlight. But--the thought rankled--Arkroyd had won three dances to his
two; and through all that day Alison had seemed determined to avoid him,
to keep herself surrounded by an obsequious crowd, impenetrable to her
lover....
On the deck below the band began to play again: signalling the end of
the intermission. Alison hummed lightly a bit of the melody, her silken
slipper tapping the deck.
"Do I get another dance?" he asked suddenly.
She broke off her humming. "So sorry," she said; "my card is quite full
and running over."
"May I see it?" She surrendered it without hesitation. He frowned,
endeavouring to decipher the scrawl by the inadequate moonlight.
"You wanted to know--?" she enquired, with a laugh back of her tone.
"How many has Arkroyd, this half?" he demanded bluntly.
"Two, I think," she answered coolly. "Why?"
He stared gravely into her shadowed face. "Is that good advertising,
too," he asked quietly--"to show marked preference to a man of Arkroyd's
calibre and reputation?"
Alison laughed. "You're delicious when you're jealous, Staff," said she.
"No; it isn't advertising--it's discipline."
"Discipline?"
"Just that. I'm punishing you for your obstinacy about the play. You'll
see, my dear," she taunted him: "I'm going to have my own way or make
your life perfectly miserable."
Before he could invent an adequate retort, the beautiful Mr. Bangs came
tripping across the deck, elation in his manner.
"Ah, there you are, Miss Landis! My dance, you know. Been looking
everywhere for you."
"So sorry: I was just coming down."
Alison caught up the demi-train of her gown, but paused an instant
longer, staring Staff full in the face, her air taunting and
provocative.
"Think it over, Staff," she advised in a cool, metallic voice; and
dropping her hand on Bangs' arm, moved languidly away.
Staff did think it over, if with surprisingly little satisfaction to
himself. It wasn't possible to ignore the patent fact that Alison had
determined to make him come to heel. That apparently was the only
attitude possible for one who aspired to the post of first
playwright-in-waiting and husband-in-ordinary to the first actress in
the land. He doubted his ability to supple his back to the requisite
degree. Even for the woman he loved.... Or did he?... Through the
wraith-like mists of fading illusions he caught disturbing
glimpses--dark shapes of lurking doubts.
Disquieted, he found distasteful the thought of returning to the lower
deck, and so strolled idly aft with a half-formed notion of looking up
Iff.