difficult for him to have got away. Poising his light stick and gloves in
his left hand, giving his drooping moustache a last twirl, and settling his
heavy cravat in place, he followed Keith down the little hall to the
Sherwoods' apartments.

At the knock Keith was at once invited to enter. The men threw open the
door. Sansome stared with all his might.

Nan Keith had made the usual miraculous recovery from seasickness once she
felt the solid ground beneath, her. The beautiful baby-textured skin had
come alive with soft colour, her dark, wide, liquid eyes had brightened.
She had assumed a soft, silken, wrapperlike garment with, a wide sash,
borrowed from Mrs. Sherwood; and at the moment was seated in an enveloping
armchair beneath a wide-shaded lamp. The firm, soft lines of her figure,
uncorseted in this negligee, were suggested beneath the silk. Sansome
stopped short, staring, his eyes kindling with, interest. Here was
something not only new but different--a distinct addition. Sansome, like
most dilettantes, was something of a phrase maker, and prided himself on
the apt word. He found it here, to his own satisfaction, at least.

"Her beauty is positively creamy!" he murmured to himself.

At sight of her Keith crossed directly to her, full of a sudden, engaging,
tender solicitude.

"How are you feeling now, honey?" he inquired. "Quite recovered? All right
now?"

But Nan was inclined to be a little vexed and reproachful. She had been
left alone, with strangers, altogether too long. Keith excused himself