Nanette and Da Cunha began to dance. Da Cunha danced perfectly, with all the sensuous grace of a none-such; but the look in his dark eyes raised my gorge to a hundred and twenty in the shade. Nanette floated in his arms like a bit of thistledown; her tiny feet seemed scarcely to brush the floor. He talked to her constantly, and sometimes she smiled up at him; but, always, she glanced into the roulette room as they passed. Ensleigh joined us. “Yes,” said he, “little Nanette is in the throes of her first infatuation.” As he spoke, she went past in Da Cunha’s arms, and frowned at Ensleigh--because he blocked her view of the roulette table. “She is,” I agreed. She danced every dance after that with Da Cunha, becoming more and more animated as the night wore on. Then her mother moved an adjournment. Of course, Nanette objected. “Mumsy,” she said. “Mr. Da Cunha has invited us all to drive up to his bungalow. We can dance to the Savoy band. Think of it!” But her mother refused to think of it. Da Cunha was not defeated yet, however. His car was waiting. He would drive the party to Reid’s. In the end this invitation was accepted. Nanette, her mother, Ensleigh, and I elected to go. “How many can you take?” Nanette asked. “Oh, six easily.” “I wonder if anyone else is going back?” said Nanette. Following her glance: “I might ask Major O’Shea if he is ready,” said I. “Do you mind, Senhor da Cunha?” “But of course not!” he replied, looking like Cæsar Borgia thinking out a new prescription. O’Shea thanked me. He preferred to walk. “And I dislike Senhor Da Cunha,” he added. Therefore the five of us packed into a flamingo-red Farman that stood before the Casino. I thought that if brass helmets had been served out, we should have done credit to any fire brigade. Da Cunha, of course, had Nanette beside him in front. I could hear his constant murmur over the roar of the engine. He took us up to Reid’s at an average of about fifty-five. Nanette’s mother steered Nanette to bed, and Da Cunha did not stay long. I sent a page to look for Jack, but he was not in his room. At about midnight, O’Shea joined us. We went out on to the terrace, pipes going, and sat watching the fairyland of the gardens below, with the winking lights of Funchal climbing the slopes beyond. Presently I heard a faint movement, and: “Oh!” said a voice in the darkness. We all turned--and there was Nanette, distracting in déshabille. “I can’t sleep, and I left my book out here!” she explained. “Let me look,” said Ensleigh. But he looked in vain. “May I stay awhile and smoke a cigarette with you?” Nanette pleaded; “or were you telling funny stories?” She stayed--seated on the arm of my chair. There was not much conversation, but after awhile O’Shea got up and disappeared. Nanette began to talk, then, with feverish animation, until presently O’Shea came back, carrying a loose coat. Very gracefully, he placed it around Nanette’s shoulders. “You must be cold,” he said.