The game was dull. Da Cunha constantly urged the superior charms of the ballroom. But Nanette played on. Presently: “Do you think Jack will come along?” she asked. “I hope so.” An interval in which Nanette lost five shillings, then: “Had you met Major O’--what’s his name--before?” “No. I had heard of him.” “Really? Is he famous?” “I suppose he is--in a way.” “But listen!” Da Cunha exclaimed, “this is _so_ boring! Let us dance.” “Not until I’ve lost my pound,” said Nanette firmly. More aimless play, then: “I saw your Major man when we first went on board, you know,” said Nanette, casually staking her all on a number. “Jack and I peeped into the smoke-room, and--he was in there.” “Really. Is that so?” “Yes. Wasn’t it odd I should meet him, after--seeing him like that?” “Very odd.” Nanette’s fortune was swept away by the croupier. She remained unperturbed. She kept throwing quick little glances all about the room, and now: “Please take me out on the terrace and get me a long, cool drink,” she asked. We stood up and crossed to the open doors. Da Cunha grabbed Nanette’s arm and led her out. As I followed, I glanced aside, and saw Jack coming in. He looked very flushed. He was literally glaring after the pair in front of me. I waved to him, but he swung around and went out again. It was dark on the terrace and at first I couldn’t see Nanette. Then I glimpsed a raised white arm over in a distant corner. She was standing with her back to the railing and Da Cunha stood in front of her, bending forward, one hand resting beside her and his face very close to hers. “What about that long, cool drink?” said I. Nanette immediately ran to me. “Oh, please!” she cried. “I’m simply gasping! Where shall we sit? Somewhere by the windows--where we can watch.” She was excited, and it was clear enough that Da Cunha had been making love to her. He turned, and I heard him snap his fingers. “Why not here?” he suggested. “How beautiful is the view in the moonlight, with the dark groves and twinkling lamps.” “No,” said Nanette, selecting a table near an open window. “I feel chilly and I want to watch the dancing.” “If you are cold, let us dance.” Nanette shook her head and opened a tiny jewelled cigarette case. She bent toward me. “A match, please,” she begged. She was quite determined, and so we sat there sipping iced drinks until Nanette’s mother and Ensleigh joined us. There were inquiries for Jack, but I said nothing--for the boy had been palpably drunk. Nanette was unable to mask her preoccupation, constantly looking into the lighted rooms, then, suddenly, halfway through a Charleston, she jumped up. “Come on,” she said to Da Cunha, and threw her wrap to me--“let’s dance!” He was on his feet in an instant and the two went in. Nanette’s mother was playing, and as I stood up I glanced toward the table. O’Shea was standing watching the play.