He stared gravely into her shadowed face. "Is that good advertising, too," he asked quietly--"to show marked preference to a man of Arkroyd's calibre and reputation?" Alison laughed. "You're delicious when you're jealous, Staff," said she. "No; it isn't advertising--it's discipline." "Discipline?" "Just that. I'm punishing you for your obstinacy about the play. You'll see, my dear," she taunted him: "I'm going to have my own way or make your life perfectly miserable." Before he could invent an adequate retort, the beautiful Mr. Bangs came tripping across the deck, elation in his manner. "Ah, there you are, Miss Landis! My dance, you know. Been looking everywhere for you." "So sorry: I was just coming down." Alison caught up the demi-train of her gown, but paused an instant longer, staring Staff full in the face, her air taunting and provocative. "Think it over, Staff," she advised in a cool, metallic voice; and dropping her hand on Bangs' arm, moved languidly away. Staff did think it over, if with surprisingly little satisfaction to himself. It wasn't possible to ignore the patent fact that Alison had determined to make him come to heel. That apparently was the only attitude possible for one who aspired to the post of first playwright-in-waiting and husband-in-ordinary to the first actress in the land. He doubted his ability to supple his back to the requisite degree. Even for the woman he loved.... Or did he?... Through the wraith-like mists of fading illusions he caught disturbing glimpses--dark shapes of lurking doubts. Disquieted, he found distasteful the thought of returning to the lower deck, and so strolled idly aft with a half-formed notion of looking up Iff. From a deck-chair a woman's voice hailed him: "Oh, Mr. Staff...." "Miss Searle?" He turned in to her side, experiencing an odd sensation of pleasure in the encounter; which, wisely or not, he didn't attempt to analyse--at least further than the thought that he had seen little of the young woman during the last two days and that she was rather likeable. "You're not dancing?" he asked in surprise; for she, too, had dressed for this celebration of the last night of the voyage. Smiling, she shook her head slightly. "Neither are you, apparently. Won't you sit down?" He wasn't at all reluctant to take the chair by her side. "Why not?" he asked. "Oh, I did dance once or twice and then I began to feel a bit tired and bored and stole away to think." "Long, long thoughts?" he asked lightly. "Rather," said she with becoming gravity. "You see, it seems pretty serious to one, this coming home to face new and unknown conditions after three years' absence.... And then, after six days at sea, out of touch with the world, practically, there's always the feeling of suspense about what will happen when you get solid earth under your feet. You know what I mean." "I do. You live in New York?"