"Miss Searle?" He turned in to her side, experiencing an odd sensation
of pleasure in the encounter; which, wisely or not, he didn't attempt to
analyse--at least further than the thought that he had seen little of
the young woman during the last two days and that she was rather
likeable.
"You're not dancing?" he asked in surprise; for she, too, had dressed
for this celebration of the last night of the voyage.
Smiling, she shook her head slightly. "Neither are you, apparently.
Won't you sit down?"
He wasn't at all reluctant to take the chair by her side. "Why not?" he
asked.
"Oh, I did dance once or twice and then I began to feel a bit tired and
bored and stole away to think."
"Long, long thoughts?" he asked lightly.
"Rather," said she with becoming gravity. "You see, it seems pretty
serious to one, this coming home to face new and unknown conditions
after three years' absence.... And then, after six days at sea, out of
touch with the world, practically, there's always the feeling of
suspense about what will happen when you get solid earth under your
feet. You know what I mean."
"I do. You live in New York?"
"I mean to try to," she said quietly. "I haven't any home, really--no
parents and only distant family connections. In fact, all I do possess
is a little income and an immense desire to work."
"You're meaning to look for an engagement, then?"
"I must."
"Perhaps," he said thoughtfully, "I might help you a bit; I know some
of the managers pretty well ..."
"Thank you. I meant to ask you, but hoped you'd offer." She laughed a
trifle shyly. "I presume that's a bold, forward confession to make, but
I've been so long abroad I don't know my way round at home, anymore."
"That's all right," said Staff, liking her candour. "Where shall you be?
Where can I find you?"
"I hardly know--for a day or two at some hotel, and as soon as possible
in a small studio, if I can find one to sublet."
"Tell you what you do," he suggested: "drop me a line at the Players,
letting me know when and where you settle."
"Thank you," she said, "I shall."
He was silent for a little, musing, his gaze wandering far over the
placid reaches of the night-wrapped ocean. "Funny little world, this,"
he said, rousing: "I mean, the ship. Here we are today, some several
hundreds of us, all knit together by an intricate network of interests,
aims, ambitions and affections that seem as strong and inescapable as
the warp and woof of Life itself; and yet tomorrow--we land, we separate
on our various ways, and the network vanishes like a dew-gemmed spider's
web before the sun."
"Only the dew vanishes," she reminded him; "the web remains, if almost
invisible.... Still, I know what you mean.... Wasn't that Miss Landis
you were with, just now?"
"Yes."
"Tell me"--she stirred, half turning to him--"has anything new
transpired--about the collar?"
"You know about that!" he exclaimed in surprise.
"Of course; the ship has been humming with it ever since dinner."
"But how--?"
"Mrs. Ilkington told me, of course. I presume Miss Landis told her."
"Doubtless," he agreed reluctantly, little relishing the thought. Still,
it seemed quite plausible, Alison's views on advertising values
considered. "No," he added presently; "I've heard nothing new."
"Then the Secret Service man hasn't accomplished anything?"
"So you know about him, too?... Can't say--haven't seen him since
morning. Presumably he's somewhere about, sniffing for clues."
"Miss Landis," said the girl in a hesitant manner--"doesn't seem to
worry very much ...?"
"No," admitted Staff.
"Either that, or she's as wonderful an actress off the boards as on."
"They mostly are," Staff observed. He was hardly ready to criticise his
beloved to a comparative stranger. The subject languished and died of
inanition.
"By the way--did you ever solve the mystery of your bandbox?"