too, the physical affliction which repelled her, in making him
appear remote from the world of fortunate men, almost attracted her at
this moment. Standing there as if waiting for her, very quiet,
apparently quite unemotional, he was like a lifeboat in a merciless sea.
She snatched at the help he silently offered.

"I feel ill," she said, chokingly. "Do you think I could get away
without any one noticing? I want to go home."

Instinctively she was sure that she might count upon him to serve her,
that he would rather do so than stay and watch the dancing, for he
himself did not dance.

"Come along," he said, with the calmness which was never ruffled.
"People will think you're engaged to sit out this dance with me. Get
your wraps, and I'll see that the launch is ready to take you across to
the slip."

The ladies' dressing-room was below. One of the largest and finest of
the staterooms had been set apart for that purpose; but there were so
few cloaks that Mary had no difficulty in finding hers, half-dazed as
she was. To her relief, Captain Hannaford was waiting for her not far
from the door when she came out.

"I thought as you're seedy you mightn't be able to find the way alone,"
he said. "It's all right about the launch."

Five minutes later she was being carried toward the shore, the explosive
throbbing of the engine sending stabs of pain through her temples.
Beside her sat Hannaford; silent, his arms folded, his black bandaged
face turned away from her. He had a habit, when he could, of seating
himself so that the unscarred side of his head was in sight of the
person next him; but to-night he had not done this with Mary. He knew
that she would be blind not only to his defects, but to his existence,
if he did not irritate her by trying to attract attention.

Neither spoke a word during the few moments of transit, and Mary gazed
always toward land, as if she did not wish to see the great lighted
yacht which illuminated the whole harbour. It had not occurred to her
that she ought to say, "Don't trouble to come with me. I shall do very
well alone." She took it for granted not only that he would come, but
that he would be glad to come; and there was no conceit in this tacit
assumption. It was borne in upon her mind from his, as if by an
assurance.

When the motor launch had landed them upon the slip, and puffed fussily
away again, Hannaford steadied Mary's steps with a hand on her arm. It
was not until they were o