water in two folds of surging foam, going on and away, farther and farther, carrying Evelyn from him. What was she doing now? He could not know, and it was torture to him; he could hardly bear to think of her leading a separate life in which he had no part, in which she did not need him.
They had played bridge in the smoke room all afternoon. Mrs. Prather had been so successful that her gold mesh bag looked as if it were about to bear a golden litter. Now, with the third round of cocktail glasses empty, and the napkin-lined dish of potato chips down to salty fragments, her chin seemed to wag detached, like a grotesque plaster figure in a shop window, as she settled to anecdotes greeted by roars of laughter.
"So the fireman said to the bride"
"Hey, steward! The same all round."
"Not for me," said Evelyn. She went out on deck, where the pre-dinner promenades were beginning. Linked ladies tottered past, clutching their hand-bags, men expanded their chests and stepped out virilely, because they were on the rolling sea, asking one another: "Ever happen to run across a fellow by the name of Henderson—Elwood T. Henderson of Henderson, Day, and McClintic? Plays the course at Twin Pines a good deal?" Mrs. Marx and Mrs. O'Dowd in their steamer chairs compared addresses of Paris shops. Evelyn leaned against the rail and
