"Yes, we'll dance," he assented. "You're teaching me to understand what dancing means. The last time--when was it?--Alexandria, I believe----"
He stopped abruptly, confused by a turbulent flood of memory. They moved away to the music, in and out of the string of lights, rocking now in an unexpected night breeze. Claire danced still with the joy of her youthful strength and gracious temperament. Once or twice, when Gregory's arm seemed to be drawing her a little closer, she freed herself slightly. Once she caught a flash of that disturbing glint in his eyes, but she only laughed at her own uneasiness.
"Please don't look so terribly in earnest," she begged him. "Dancing is one of the happiest things in the world. We must keep that feeling always with us."
The music came to an abrupt finish. Claire looked across at the leader of the orchestra in dismay, but it was too late for intervention. Already the first notes of "God Save the King" had been struck.
"Well, it has been lovely," she declared. "I suppose I must go and look for Mrs. Hichens."
"Come and have a lemon squash first," he begged.
The steward served them out on deck. Gregory drank a whisky and soda as though it had been water.
"Let's sit out for a time," he suggested. "It is too warm to sleep down below. I'll fetch some more rugs."
She shook her head and rose regretfully to her feet.
"It has been delightful," she admitted, "but after all it is eleven o'clock."
They strolled along the deck. Suddenly he gripped her by the arm. They were passing his stateroom. Perkins was moving about and the light was lit. He pointed in through the wide-open door, only a few feet away.
"Let me show you my evil genius," he begged.
She hesitated for a moment. Then, with the steward smilingly standing on one side for her to enter, her hesitation seemed ridiculous. She crossed the threshold as Perkins disappeared with a suave good night. Gregory stood by her side and pointed to the Image. She gave a little gasp. For several moments neither of them spoke. They both gazed at it intently; Claire with wondering horror; Gregory fighting against some sympathetic suggestion in the cynical brutality of the thick mocking lips.
"What a ghastly thing to own," she cried.