It is odd how moments of understanding come in life, not to be hurried, not to be gainsaid. Paul Kestern had travelled with these two for some days now with all their opportunities of intimacy, and in her own flat he had seen Ursula Manning robed for the evening or making a belated breakfast even more revealingly dressed than now. He might, so to speak, have known himself in love with her fifty times. But not till this minute did his hand clutch with a sudden nervousness at the nearest thing about him (which happened to be the curtain), and his breath catch in his throat. Not till this minute did she seem to him utterly desirable for himself alone, and--for that is the deviltry of love--so supremely lovely that she must be unattainable. Or all but unattainable. Men dare great adventures with a kind of godlike effrontery. But in nothing are they more godlike that when, realising the awe and majesty of love, they conceive deliberately that they may win to it. Would they, though, if, more often than not, the woman did not divine their thought and hold out the sceptre from her throne? That, at any rate, is another deviltry. So Ursula. "Hullo, Paul," she said, very unconcerned, her eyes resting softly on him, "what's up? Ship on fire?" "No," stammered Paul, "I say, are you awake? That is, I mean--well, of course, I see you are! I say, come on deck. The sunrise is too heavenly for words." "It's also hot," said Muriel, sitting up in her bunk and leaning over to look at Ursula. "Hullo! Good-morning. You reading?" Paul looked at Muriel. She, too, wore a thin silk nightdress, but at the sight of her he recovered his assurance. "Well, do come up, both of you," he said. "It's far too good to miss." Ursula closed her book and drew her knees up, preparatory to getting out of the bunk. "Coming," she said. "Paul, tell the steward we'll have tea on deck." He departed on his errand, humming to himself with sudden elation. In the passage he ran into Major Jardine. On such occasions heretofore as a fourth person had been demanded of necessity, Jardine had filled that position, and had seemed increasingly to relish it. He was in the King's African Rifles, returning from leave to his companies in Zanzibar. He grinned at Paul, but with a certain gloom born of the tropics and the hour. "Morning," he said. "You're devilish early and musical, Kestern." Paul laughed. "Come and see the sunrise, Major," he said. "It'll cheer you up. We're having tea on deck." Then the other visibly brightened. "Good," he cried with alacrity. "I'll tub later. Shan't be a jiffy." And he disappeared into his cabin to get rid of his impedimenta. On the boat-deck, then, the four gathered. Muriel dispensed tea, assisted by the Major, and lit cigarettes. Ursula and Paul drew a little apart. She leant a hand on the davits of one of the boats, and Paul stood back a little by her side.