viii

Keith's eyes were upon her; but she looked at her peach stone, her hand
still lightly holding the fruit knife, and her fingers half caught by
the beam of a candle which stood beside her. He persisted:

"Well, Templecombe took his valet, who does the cooking; and my
hand--my sailorman--wanted to go and visit his wife ... and that left me
to see after the yacht. D'you see? I had the choice of keeping Tomkins
aboard, or staying aboard myself."

"You might almost have given me longer notice," urged Jenny. "It seems
to me."

"No. I'm under instructions. I'm not a free man," said Keith soberly. "I
was once; but I'm not now. I'm captain of a yacht. I do what I'm told."

Jenny fingered her port-wine glass, and in looking at the light upon the
wine her eyes became fixed.

"Will you ever do anything else?" she asked. Keith shrugged slightly.

"You want to know a lot," he said.

"I don't know very much, do I?" Jenny answered, in a little dead voice.
"Just somewhere about nothing at all. I have to pretend the rest."

"D'you want to know it?"

Jenny gave a quick look at his hands which lay upon the table. She could