He looked at her as she leaned against the table and then his gaze dropped to where the yellow wrap had opened so that he could see her bosom, and he felt a dizziness as he looked away. It was characteristic of Evanthia that she made no sudden gesture of modesty. She leaned there, her white throat and breast lifting evenly as she breathed, awaiting his answer. "Yes, I understand," he answered, looking out to where the _Kalkis_ was emerging from the distant haze. "But what I don't see is why you want to do it." "I want to go wis you," she whispered sharply, and he looked at her again to find her gazing at him sternly, her finger on her lips. And Mr. Spokesly suddenly had an inspiration. Here he was again, mewing like a kitten for somebody to come and open the door, instead of taking hold and mastering the situation. He took a deep breath, and lit a cigarette. He must play up to this. No good fooling about. In for a penny, in for a pound. Could it be managed? He decided it could. It was evident Mr. Dainopoulos knew something about it but had no intention of taking an active part in the adventure. Mr. Spokesly realized he himself had no notion where the _Kalkis_ was going after discharging in Phyros. It seemed Evanthia did, or had some notion of it. Yes, it could be managed. His hand closed over hers as it lay on the table. "I'll fix everything," he said. "You be ready and I'll do the rest." Her face grew radiant. She became herself again--a woman who had got what she wanted. She rose and stroked his hair gently as she bent over him. "Now I get some breakfast, _mon cher_," she twittered sweetly. "You stop here. I call you." And with a soft, sibilant flip-flop of her heelless slippers, which showed her own pink heels and delicate ankles, she disappeared.