Dorothy Sambrooke was unaware of the change. Her consciousness was
still that of a young girl, and she was surprised and troubled by
Steve's conduct in this hour of saying good-bye. She had looked
upon him as her playfellow, and for the month he had been her
playfellow; but now he was not parting like a playfellow. He talked
excitedly and disconnectedly, or was silent, by fits and starts.
Sometimes he did not hear what she was saying, or if he did, failed
to respond in his wonted manner. She was perturbed by the way he
looked at her. She had not known before that he had such blazing
eyes. There was something in his eyes that was terrifying. She
could not face it, and her own eyes continually drooped before it.
Yet there was something alluring about it, as well, and she
continually returned to catch a glimpse of that blazing, imperious,
yearning something that she had never seen in human eyes before.
And she was herself strangely bewildered and excited.

The transport's huge whistle blew a deafening blast, and the flower-
crowned multitude surged closer to the side of the dock. Dorothy
Sambrooke's fingers were pressed to her ears; and as she made a moue
of distaste at the outrage of sound, she noticed again the
imperious, yearning blaze in Steve's eyes. He was not looking at
her, but at her ears, delicately pink and transparent in the
slanting rays of the afternoon sun. Curious and fascinated, she
gazed at that strange something in his eyes until he saw that he had
been caught. She saw his cheeks flush darkly and heard him utter
inarticulately. He was embarrassed, and she was aware of
embarrassment herself. Stewards were going about nervously begging
shore-going persons to be gone. Steve put out his hand. When she
felt the grip of the fingers that had gripped hers a thousand times
on surf-boards and lava slopes, she heard the words of the song with