alight with brilliant
phosphorus. A step behind him made his heart leap. He did not turn, but
he was conscious of a figure on his right, also looking down upon the
water. Suddenly there was a faint flutter of drapery, and the breeze sent
a trail of something soft and silky across his eyes.

"Oh, I am sorry," said a voice in the darkness.

Antony turned.

"The wind caught it," she explained apologetically, tucking the chiffon
streamer within her cloak.

Now, it is quite certain that Antony had here an opportunity to make one
of those little ordinary pleasant remarks that invariably lead to a
conversation, but none presented itself to his mind. He could do nothing
but utter the merest formal, though of course polite, acknowledgment of
her apology, his brain seeking wildly for further words the while. It
found none.

She gave him a little bow, courteous and not at all unfriendly, and moved
away across the deck. Antony looked after her figure receding in the
darkness.

"Oh, you idiot," he groaned within his heart, "you utter and double-dyed
idiot."

He looked despairingly down at the water, and from it to the moonlit sky.
Fate, so he mused ruefully, writes certain sentences in our life-book,
truly; but it behoves each one of us to fill in between the lines. And he
had filled in--nothing.

An hour or so later he descended dejectedly to his cabin.

CHAPTER IV

THE LADY OF THE BLUE BOOK

He saw her at breakfast the next morning; and again, later, sitting on a
deck-chair, with a book.

Once more he cursed his folly of the previous evening. A word or two
then, no matter how trivial their utterance, and the barriers of
convention would have been passed. Even should Fate throw a like
opportunity in his path again, it was entirely improbable that she would
choose the same hour. She is ever chary of exact repetitions. And, if his
stammering tongue failed in speech with the soft darkness to cover its
shyness, how was it likely it would find utterance in the broad light of
day? The Moment--he spelled it with a capital--had passed, and would
never again recur. Therefore he seated himself on his own deck-chair,
some twenty paces from her, and began to fill his pipe, gloomily enough.
Yet, in spite of gloom, he watched her,--surreptitiously of course. There
was no ill-bred staring in his survey.

She was again dressed in black, but this time the lace ruffles had given
place to soft white muslin cuffs and collar.