The dancers trooped out to the dimly-lighted deck, while the quartermaster raised the awning to allow the fresh air to circulate. Luke and Agatha went with the rest, her hand resting unsteadily on his sleeve. She had never felt unsteady like this before. She was conscious, probably for the first time in her life, of a strange, creeping fear. She was distinctly afraid of the first words that her partner would say when they were alone. Spread out over the broad deck the many passengers seemed but a few. It was almost solitude--and Agatha was afraid of solitude with Luke. Yet she had selected a dress which she knew would appeal to him. She had dressed for him--which means something from a woman's point of view. She had welcomed this ball with a certain reckless throb of excitement, not for its own sake, but for Luke's. The unerring instinct of her vanity had not played her false. She had succeeded, and now she was afraid of her success. There is a subtle fear in all success, and an indefinite responsibility. Luke knew the ship. He led the way to a deserted corner of the deck, with a deliberation which set Agatha's heart beating. "What did you mean when you said I could have all the dances?" asked Luke slowly. His eyes gleamed deeply as he looked down at her. And Agatha had no answer ready. She stood before him with downcast eyes--like a chidden child who has been meddling with danger. And suddenly his arms were round her. She gave a little gasp, but made no attempt to escape from him. This was all so different, so new to her. There was something in the strong salt air blowing over them which seemed to purify the world and raise them above the sordid cares thereof. There was something simple and strong and primitive in this man--at home on his own element, all filled with the strength of the ocean--mastering her, claiming her as if by force. "What did you mean?" he asked again. She pushed him away, and turning stood beside him with her two hands resting on the rail, her back turned towards him. "Oh, Luke," she whispered at length, "I can't be poor--I CAN'T--I can't. You do not know what it is. It has always been such a struggle--there is no rest in it." It is said that women can raise men above the world. How often do they bring them down to it when they are raising themselves! And Luke's love was large enough to accept her as she was. "And if I were not poor?" he asked, without any of the sullen pride that was his. She answered nothing, and he read her silence aright. "I will become rich," he said, "somehow. I do not care how. I will, I will--Agatha!" She did not dare to meet his eyes. "Come," she said. "Come--let us go back." They danced together again, but Agatha refused to sit anywhere but beneath the awning. While they were dancing they did not speak. He never took his eyes off her, and she never looked at him.