ruptly brought up
all-standing by the information that the colour of the lady's soul was
pink. She knew this to be a fact beyond dispute, because she never
could do her best work save when garbed exclusively in pink. She
enumerated several articles of wearing apparel not customarily discussed
between comparative strangers but which--always provided they were
pink--she held indispensable to the task of dramatic composition.

In his great agony, happening to glance in Miss Searle's direction, he
saw her with head bent and eyelids lowered, lips compressed, colour a
trifle heightened, shoulders suspiciously a-quiver.

Incongruously, the impression obtruded that they were unusually handsome
shoulders.

For that matter, she was an unusually handsome young woman: tall, fair,
with a face featured with faint, exquisite irregularity, brown eyes and
brows in striking contrast to the rich golden colour of her hair;
well-poised and balanced--sure but not too conscious of herself ...

Staff heard himself saying "Beg pardon?" to a third repetition of one of
Mrs. Thataker's gratuitous revelations.

At this he took fright, drew back into his reserve for the remainder of
the meal, and as soon as he decently could, made his excuses and fled to
join Iff in the smoking-room....

He found the little man indulging his two passions; he was drinking
whiskey-and-sodas and playing bridge, both in the most masterly fashion.
Staff watched the game a while and then, the opportunity offering, cut
in. He played till ten o'clock, at which hour, wearied, he yielded his
seat to another, leaving Mr. Iff the victor of six rubbers and twelve
whiskey-and-sodas. As Staff went out on deck the little man cut for the
seventh and ordered the thirteenth. Neither indulgence seemed to have
had any perceptible effect upon him.

Staff strolled forward, drinking in air that seemed the sweeter by
contrast with the reeking room he had just quitted. The wind had
freshened since nightfall; it blew strong and cool, but not keen. And
there was more motion in the seas that sang overside, wrapped in
Cimmerian blackness. The sky had become overcast; there were no stars:
only the 'longshore lights of Ireland twinkled, small, bright,
incredibly distant over the waters. The decks were softly aglow with
electric lights, lending a deeper shade of velvety denseness to the
night beyond the rails.

He hadn't moved far forward when his quick sight picked out the shimmer
of a w