Mrs. Darlington and Captain O'Leary were dancing when Miss Watts and Isabelle entered the large gallery at the edge of the platform. Mrs. Darlington was regal in evening dress, and the pair attracted much attention as they danced. The Captain bowed as he passed and evidently spoke to his partner about them, for she glanced back at them. She shrugged her shoulders, and he led her in their direction. "Lovely night, isn't it? Mrs. Darlington, Miss Watts and Miss Bryce," he said. "I tried to meet Miss Bryce on the boat, but she snubbed me," laughed Mrs. Darlington, making Isabelle feel very young and crude. Isabelle frowned and made no denial, so Captain O'Leary remarked: "Do you disdain the dance, Miss Bryce?" "No." "Would you honour me?" Isabelle glanced at Miss Watts, who looked uncomfortable. "Isabelle is not out yet. Her mother wishes her to be inconspicuous here," she began. "Imagine Isabelle inconspicuous," laughed Mrs. Darlington again. Isabelle decided that she hated her! "But it's different out here--it's not a ball room, ye know. It's just dancin' round," said the Irishman. "Yes, that's true. Oh, I think it would be all right," agreed Miss Watts, unable to deny him the moon, if he asked for it. "The next then, Miss Bryce?" "Thank you," she said. He went away with his partner, who was decidedly bored with the conversation. "Surly little thing," she remarked, audibly. "She is certainly a beautiful woman," Miss Watts remarked, looking after them. "Beautiful? Oh, yes, if you like a vamp." "A what?" "Vampire; you see them in movies." "Isabelle!" protested the older woman. They strolled about, drank in the rich tropical perfume of the night, and looked off to where the sea lay--huge, mysterious, and musical--lipping the beach. There was a moon and the stars hung low and yellow in a deep blue velvet sky. The band swung into a waltz, and the dancers began to revolve. Isabelle's heart beat an extra tap or two. She saw Captain O'Leary's closely cropped head in the distance. He caught sight of her, and hurried toward them with that swinging, marching gait of his. He bowed and offered his arm. Isabelle took it in silence and they went to the dancing floor. She looked like a little girl in her straight white gown, and the top of her head came well below his shoulder. They glided off without a word. The Captain was an accomplished dancer, also he danced because he loved it. In the same way it was speech to Isabelle; it expressed her, it was a natural gift. They were like one person, moved by one will. Encore followed encore. Only once was a word exchanged between them; and then, as they waited for the music to begin again, she lifted shining eyes to his, and he leaned toward her quickly: "Ye little moonbeam!" he said, softly.