He did not see her until the dance ended with an abruptness peculiar to entertainments on board His Majesty’s ships. At once the sea, which through the hours had lapped quietly against the steel plates, was thrashed to foam by the propellers of the waiting steamboats. It happened, as John had scarcely doubted it would happen, that Margaret and her mother went ashore in the _Pathshire’s_ picket-boat. John, who stood where the light fell on him, watched Ordith escort them down the gangway. He saw that Margaret’s eyes were tired, as if she had undergone some strain, but this appearance he attributed to physical weariness. She said nothing to Ordith but a short “Good-night” scarcely audible. Then, as she stepped on to the deck of John’s boat, she looked directly at him where he stood beside the engine-room casing. She looked at and beyond him as if he were not there, and disappeared into the cabin. He drove the boat angrily, using too much helm, and brought up by the landing-stage, not by slowing and then stopping his engines, but by a sudden stoppage and immediate reversal at full speed. All went well, as if the Devil were directing his judgment. The stem swung inaccurately, the engines stopped, and the boat came to rest with the foam boiling around her. The passengers clambered out with the extraordinary nervous clumsiness of landfolk in boats. For a moment John was tempted to draw attention to himself by saying good-night to Mrs. Fane-Herbert and Margaret. Then he changed his mind, and kept his place by the wheel, where the brass funnel hid him. Margaret had seen him alongside the flagship. She must have recognized him, and she had given no sign of recognition. He would not press the matter further.