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F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940)

The Saturday Evening Post (8 June 1929)


Once on the long, covered piers, you have come into a ghostly
country that is no longer Here and not yet There.  Especially at
night.  There is a hazy yellow vault full of shouting, echoing
voices.  There is the rumble of trucks and the clump of trunks, the
strident chatter of a crane and the first salt smell of the sea.
You hurry through, even though there's time.  The past, the
continent, is behind you; the future is that glowing mouth in the
side of the ship; this dim turbulent alley is too confusedly the

Up the gangplank, and the vision of the world adjusts itself,
narrows.  One is a citizen of a commonwealth smaller than Andorra.
One is no longer so sure of anything.  Curiously unmoved the men at
the purser's desk, cell-like the cabin, disdainful the eyes of
voyagers and their friends, solemn the officer who stands on the
deserted promenade deck thinking something of his own as he stares
at the crowd below.  A last odd idea that one didn't really have to
come, then the loud, mournful whistles, and the thing--certainly
not the boat, but rather a human idea, a frame of mind--pushes
forth into the big dark night.

Adrian Smith, one of the celebrities on board--not a very great
celebrity, but important enough to be bathed in flashlight by a
photographer who had been given his name, but wasn't sure what his
subject 'did'--Adrian Smith and his blonde wife, Eva, went up to
the promenade deck, passed the melancholy ship's officer, and,
finding a quiet aerie, put their elbows on the rail.

'We're going!' he cried presently, and they both laughed in
ecstasy.  'We've escaped.  They can't get us now.'


He waved his hand vaguely at the civic tiara.

'All those people out there.  They'll come with their posses and
their warrants and list of crimes we've committed, and ring the
bell at our door on Park Avenue and ask for the Adrian Smiths, but
what ho! the Adrian Smiths and their children and nurse are off for

'You make me think we really have committed crimes.'

'They can't have you,' he said frowning.  'That's one thing they're
after me about--they know I haven't got any right to a person like
you, and they're furious.  That's one reason I'm glad to get away.'

'Darling,' said Eva.

She was twenty-six--five years younger than he.  She was something
precious to everyone who knew her.

'I like this boat better than the Majestic or the Aquitania,' she
remarked, unfaithful to the ships that had served their honeymoon.

'It's much smaller.'

'But it's very slick and it has all those little shops along the
corridors.  And I think the staterooms are bigger.'

'The people are very formal--did you notice?--as if they thought
everyone else was a card sharp.  And in about four days half of
them will be calling the other half by their first names.'

Four of the people came by now--a quartet of young girls abreast,
making a circuit of the deck.  Their eight eyes swept momentarily
towards Adrian and Eva, and then swept automatically back, save for
one pair which lingered for an instant with a little start.  They
belonged to one of the girls in the middle, who was, indeed, the
only passenger of the four.  She was not more than eighteen--a dark
little beauty with the fine crystal gloss over her that, in
brunettes, takes the place of a blonde's bright glow.

'Now, who's that?' wondered Adrian.  'I've seen her before.'

'She's pretty,' said Eva.

'Yes.'  He kept wondering, and Eva deferred momentarily to his
distraction; then, smiling up at him, she drew him back into their

'Tell me more,' she said.

'About what?'

'About us--what a good time we'll have, and how we'll be much
better and happier, and very close always.'

'How could we be any closer?'  His arm pulled her to him.

'But I mean never even quarrel any more about silly things.  You
know, I made up my mind when you gave me my birthday present last
week'--her fingers caressed the fine seed pearls at her throat--
'that I'd try never to say a mean thing to you again.'

'You never have, my precious.'

Yet even as he strained her against his side she knew that the
moment of utter isolation had passed almost before it had begun.
His antennae were already out, feeling over this new world.

'Most of the people look rather awful,' he said--'little and
swarthy and ugly.  Americans didn't use to look like that.'

'They look dreary,' she agreed.  'Let's not get to know anybody,
but just stay together.'

A gong was beating now, and stewards were shouting down the decks,
'Visitors ashore, please!' and voices rose to a strident chorus.
For a while the gangplanks were thronged; then they were empty,
and the jostling crowd behind the barrier waved and called
unintelligible things, and kept up a grin of good will.  As the
stevedores began to work at the ropes a flat-faced, somewhat
befuddled young man arrived in a great hurry and was assisted up
the gangplank by a porter and a taxi driver.  The ship having
swallowed him as impassively as though he were a missionary for
Beirut, a low, portentous vibration began.  The pier with its faces
commenced to slide by, and for a moment the boat was just a piece
accidentally split off from it; then the faces became remote,
voiceless, and the pier was one among many yellow blurs along the
water front.  Now the harbour flowed swiftly toward the sea.

On a northern parallel of latitude a hurricane was forming and
moving south by southeast preceded by a strong west wind.  On its
course it was destined to swamp the Peter I. Eudin of Amsterdam,
with a crew of sixty-six, to break a boom on the largest boat in
the world, and to bring grief and want to the wives of several
hundred seamen.  This liner, leaving New York Sunday evening, would
enter the zone of the storm Tuesday, and of the hurricane late
Wednesday night.


Tuesday afternoon Adrian and Eva paid their first visit to the
smoking-room.  This was not in accord with their intentions--they
had 'never wanted to see a cocktail again' after leaving America--
but they had forgotten the staccato loneliness of ships, and all
activity centred about the bar.  So they went in for just a minute.

It was full.  There were those who had been there since luncheon,
and those who would be there until dinner, not to mention a
faithful few who had been there since nine this morning.  It was a
prosperous assembly, taking its recreation at bridge, solitaire,
detective stories, alcohol, argument and love.  Up to this point
you could have matched it in the club or casino life of any
country, but over it all played a repressed nervous energy, a
barely disguised impatience that extended to old and young alike.
The cruise had begun, and they had enjoyed the beginning, but the
show was not varied enough to last six days, and already they
wanted it to be over.

At a table near them Adrian saw the pretty girl who had stared at
him on the deck the first night.  Again he was fascinated by her
loveliness; there was no mist upon the brilliant gloss that gleamed
through the smoky confusion of the room.  He and Eva had decided
from the passenger list that she was probably 'Miss Elizabeth
D'Amido and maid', and he had heard her called Betsy as he walked
past a deck-tennis game.  Among the young people with her was the
flat-nosed youth who had been 'poured on board', the night of their
departure; yesterday he had walked the deck morosely, but he was
apparently reviving.  Miss D'Amido whispered something to him, and
he looked over at the Smiths with curious eyes.  Adrian was new
enough at being a celebrity to turn self-consciously away.

'There's a little roll.  Do you feel it?' Eva demanded.

'Perhaps we'd better split a pint of champagne.'

While he gave the order a short colloquy was taking place at the
other table; presently a young man rose and came over to them.

'Isn't this Mr Adrian Smith?'


'We wondered if we couldn't put you down for the deck-tennis
tournament.  We're going to have a deck-tennis tournament.'

'Why--'  Adrian hesitated.

'My name's Stacomb,' burst out the young man.  'We all know your--
your plays or whatever it is, and all that--and we wondered if you
wouldn't like to come over to our table.'

Somewhat overwhelmed, Adrian laughed: Mr Stacomb, glib, soft,
slouching, waited; evidently under the impression that he had
delivered himself of a graceful compliment.

Adrian, understanding that, too, replied:  'Thanks, but perhaps
you'd better come over here.'

'We've got a bigger table.'

'But we're older and more--more settled.'

The young man laughed kindly, as if to say, 'That's all right.'

'Put me down,' said Adrian.  'How much do I owe you?'

'One buck.  Call me Stac.'

'Why?' asked Adrian, startled.

'It's shorter.'

When he had gone they smiled broadly.

'Heavens,' Eva gasped, 'I believe they are coming over.'

They were.  With a great draining of glasses, calling of waiters,
shuffling of chairs, three boys and two girls moved to the Smiths'
table.  If there was any diffidence, it was confined to the hosts;
for the new additions gathered around them eagerly, eyeing Adrian
with respect--too much respect--as if to say:  'This was probably a
mistake and won't be amusing, but maybe we'll get something out of
it to help us in our after life, like at school.'

In a moment Miss D'Amido changed seats with one of the men and
placed her radiant self at Adrian's side, looking at him with
manifest admiration.

'I fell in love with you the minute I saw you,' she said audibly
and without self-consciousness; 'so I'll take all the blame for
butting in.  I've seen your play four times.'

Adrian called a waiter to take their orders.

'You see,' continued Miss D'Amido, 'we're going into a storm, and
you might be prostrated the rest of the trip, so I couldn't take
any chances.'

He saw that there was no undertone or innuendo in what she said,
nor the need of any.  The words themselves were enough, and the
deference with which she neglected the young men and bent her
politeness on him was somehow very touching.  A little glow went
over him; he was having rather more than a pleasant time.

Eva was less entertained; but the flat-nosed young man, whose name
was Butterworth, knew people that she did, and that seemed to make
the affair less careless and casual.  She did not like meeting new
people unless they had 'something to contribute', and she was often
bored by the great streams of them, of all types and conditions and
classes, that passed through Adrian's life.  She herself 'had
everything'--which is to say that she was well endowed with talents
and with charm--and the mere novelty of people did not seem a
sufficient reason for eternally offering everything up to them.

Half an hour later when she rose to go and see the children, she
was content that the episode was over.  It was colder on deck, with
a damp that was almost rain, and there was a perceptible motion.
Opening the door of her state-room she was surprised to find the
cabin steward sitting languidly on her bed, his head slumped upon
the upright pillow.  He looked at her listlessly as she came in,
but made no move to get up.

'When you've finished your nap you can fetch me a new pillow-case,'
she said briskly.

Still the man didn't move.  She perceived then that his face was

'You can't be seasick in here,' she announced firmly.  'You go and
lie down in your own quarters.'

'It's me side,' he said faintly.  He tried to rise, gave out a
little rasping sound of pain and sank back again.  Eva rang for the

A steady pitch, toss, roll had begun in earnest and she felt no
sympathy for the steward, but only wanted to get him out as quick
as possible.  It was outrageous for a member of the crew to be
seasick.  When the stewardess came in Eva tried to explain this,
but now her own head was whirring, and throwing herself on the bed,
she covered her eyes.

'It's his fault,' she groaned when the man was assisted from the
room.  'I was all right and it made me sick to look at him.  I wish
he'd die.'

In a few minutes Adrian came in.

'Oh, but I'm sick!' she cried.

'Why, you poor baby.'  He leaned over and took her in his arms.
'Why didn't you tell me?'

'I was all right upstairs, but there was a steward--Oh, I'm too
sick to talk.'

'You'd better have dinner in bed.'

'Dinner!  Oh, my heavens!'

He waited solicitously, but she wanted to hear his voice, to have
it drown out the complaining sound of the beams.

'Where've you been?'

'Helping to sign up people for the tournament.'

'Will they have it if it's like this?  Because if they do I'll just
lose for you.'

He didn't answer; opening her eyes, she saw that he was frowning.

'I didn't know you were going in the doubles,' he said.

'Why, that's the only fun.'

'I told the D'Amido girl I'd play with her.'


'I didn't think.  You know I'd much rather play with you.'

'Why didn't you, then?' she asked coolly.

'It never occurred to me.'

She remembered that on their honeymoon they had been in the finals
and won a prize.  Years passed.  But Adrian never frowned in this
regretful way unless he felt a little guilty.  He stumbled about,
getting his dinner clothes out of the trunk, and she shut her eyes.

When a particular violent lurch startled her awake again he was
dressed and tying his tie.  He looked healthy and fresh, and his
eyes were bright.

'Well, how about it?' he inquired.  'Can you make it, or no?'


'Can I do anything for you before I go?'

'Where are you going?'

'Meeting those kids in the bar.  Can I do anything for you?'


'Darling, I hate to leave you like this.'

'Don't be silly.  I just want to sleep.'

That solicitous frown--when she knew he was crazy to be out and
away from the close cabin.  She was glad when the door closed.  The
thing to do was to sleep, sleep.

Up--down--sideways.  Hey there, not so far!  Pull her round the
corner there!  Now roll her, right--left--Crea-eak!  Wrench!

Some hours later Eva was dimly conscious of Adrian bending over
her.  She wanted him to put his arms around her and draw her up out
of this dizzy lethargy, but by the time she was fully awake the
cabin was empty.  He had looked in and gone.  When she awoke next
the cabin was dark and he was in bed.

The morning was fresh and cool, and the sea was just enough calmer
to make Eva think she could get up.  They breakfasted in the cabin
and with Adrian's help she accomplished an unsatisfactory makeshift
toilet and they went up on the boat deck.  The tennis tournament
had already begun and was furnishing action for a dozen amateur
movie cameras, but the majority of passengers were represented by
lifeless bundles in deck chairs beside untasted trays.

Adrian and Miss D'Amido played their first match.  She was deft and
graceful; blatantly well.  There was even more warmth behind her
ivory skin than there had been the day before.  The strolling first
officer stopped and talked to her; half a dozen men whom she
couldn't have known three days ago called her Betsy.  She was
already the pretty girl of the voyage, the cynosure of starved
ship's eyes.

But after a while Eva preferred to watch the gulls in the wireless
masts and the slow slide of the roll-top sky.  Most of the
passengers looked silly with their movie cameras that they had all
rushed to get and now didn't know what to use for, but the sailors
painting the lifeboat stanchions were quiet and beaten and
sympathetic, and probably wished, as she did, that the voyage was

Butterworth sat down on the deck beside her chair.

'They're operating on one of the stewards this morning.  Must be
terrible in this sea.'

'Operating?  What for?' she asked listlessly.

'Appendicitis.  They have to operate now because we're going into
worse weather.  That's why they're having the ship's party

'Oh, the poor man!' she cried, realizing it must be her steward.

Adrian was showing off now by being very courteous and thoughtful
in the game.

'Sorry.  Did you hurt yourself? . . .  No, it was my fault. . .
You better put on your coat right away, pardner, or you'll catch

The match was over and they had won.  Flushed and hearty, he came
up to Eva's chair.

'How do you feel?'


'Winners are buying a drink in the bar,' he said apologetically.

'I'm coming, too,' Eva said, but an immediate dizziness made her
sink back in her chair.

'You'd better stay here.  I'll send you up something.'

She felt that his public manner had hardened towards her slightly.

'You'll come back?'

'Oh, right away.'

She was alone on the boat deck, save for a solitary ship's officer
who slanted obliquely as he paced the bridge.  When the cocktail
arrived she forced herself to drink it, and felt better.  Trying to
distract her mind with pleasant things, she reached back to the
sanguine talks that she and Adrian had had before sailing:  There
was the little villa in Brittany, the children learning French--
that was all she could think of now--the little villa in Brittany,
the children learning French--so she repeated the words over and
over to herself until they became as meaningless as the wide white
sky.  The why of their being here had suddenly eluded her; she felt
unmotivated, accidental, and she wanted Adrian to come back quick,
all responsive and tender, to reassure her.  It was in the hope
that there was some secret of graceful living, some real
compensation for the lost, careless confidence of twenty-one, that
they were going to spend a year in France.

The day passed darkly, with fewer people around and a wet sky
falling.  Suddenly it was five o'clock, and they were all in the
bar again, and Mr Butterworth was telling her about his past.  She
took a good deal of champagne, but she was seasick dimly through
it, as if the illness was her soul trying to struggle up through
some thickening incrustation of abnormal life.

'You're my idea of a Greek goddess, physically,' Butterworth was

It was pleasant to be Mr Butterworth's idea of a Greek goddess
physically, but where was Adrian?  He and Miss D'Amido had gone out
on a forward deck to feel the spray.  Eva heard herself promising
to get out her colours and paint the Eiffel Tower on Butterworth's
shirt front for the party tonight.

When Adrian and Betsy D'Amido, soaked with spray, opened the door
with difficulty against the driving wind and came into the now-
covered security of the promenade deck, they stopped and turned
toward each other.

'Well?' she said.  But he only stood with his back to the rail,
looking at her, afraid to speak.  She was silent, too, because she
wanted him to be first; so for a moment nothing happened.  Then she
made a step towards him, and he took her in his arms and kissed her

'You're just sorry for me, that's all.'  She began to cry a little.
'You're just being kind.'

'I feel terribly about it.'  His voice was taut and trembling.

'Then kiss me.'

The deck was empty.  He bent over her swiftly.

'No, really kiss me.'

He could not remember when anything had felt so young and fresh as
her lips.  The rain lay, like tears shed for him, upon the softly
shining porcelain cheeks.  She was all new and immaculate, and her
eyes were wild.

'I love you,' she whispered.  'I can't help loving you, can I?
When I first saw you--oh, not on the boat, but over a year ago--
Grace Heally took me to a rehearsal and suddenly you jumped up in
the second row and began telling them what to do.  I wrote you a
letter and tore it up.'

'We've got to go.'

She was weeping as they walked along the deck.  Once more,
imprudently, she held up her face to him at the door of her cabin.
His blood was beating through him in wild tumult as he walked on to
the bar.

He was thankful that Eva scarcely seemed to notice him or to know
that he had been gone.  After a moment he pretended an interest in
what she was doing.

'What's that?'

'She's painting the Eiffel Tower on my shirt front for tonight,'
explained Butterworth.

'There,' Eva laid away her brush and wiped her hands.

'How's that?'

'A chef-d'oeuvre.'

Her eyes swept around the watching group, lingered casually upon

'You're wet.  Go and change.'

'You come too.'

'I want another champagne cocktail.'

'You've had enough.  It's time to dress for the party.'

Unwilling she closed her paints and preceded him.

'Stacomb's got a table for nine,' he remarked as they walked along
the corridor.

'The younger set,' she said with unnecessary bitterness.  'Oh, the
younger set.  And you just having the time of your life--with a

They had a long discussion in the cabin, unpleasant on her part and
evasive on his, which ended when the ship gave a sudden gigantic
heave, and Eva, the edge worn off her champagne, felt ill again.
There was nothing to do but to have a cocktail in the cabin, and
after that they decided to go to the party--she believed him now,
or she didn't care.

Adrian was ready first--he never wore fancy dress.

'I'll go on up.  Don't be long.'

'Wait for me, please; it's rocking so.'

He sat down on a bed, concealing his impatience.

'You don't mind waiting, do you?  I don't want to parade up there
all alone.'

She was taking a tuck in an oriental costume rented from the

'Ships make people feel crazy,' she said.  'I think they're awful.'

'Yes,' he muttered absently.

'When it gets very bad I pretend I'm in the top of a tree, rocking
to and fro.  But finally I get pretending everything, and finally I
have to pretend I'm sane when I know I'm not.'

'If you get thinking that way you will go crazy.'

'Look, Adrian.'  She held up the string of pearls before clasping
them on.  'Aren't they lovely?'

In Adrian's impatience she seemed to move around the cabin like a
figure in a slow-motion picture.  After a moment he demanded:

'Are you going to be long?  It's stifling in here.'

'You go on!' she fired up.

'I don't want--'

'Go on, please!  You just make me nervous trying to hurry me.'

With a show of reluctance he left her.  After a moment's hesitation
he went down a flight to a deck below and knocked at a door.


'Just a minute.'

She came out in the corridor attired in a red pea-jacket and
trousers borrowed from the elevator boy.

'Do elevator boys have fleas?' she demanded.  'I've got everything
in the world on under this as a precaution.'

'I had to see you,' he said quickly.

'Careful,' she whispered.  'Mrs Worden, who's supposed to be
chaperoning me, is across the way.  She's sick.'

'I'm sick for you.'

They kissed suddenly, clung close together in the narrow corridor,
swaying to and fro with the motion of the ship.

'Don't go away,' she murmured.

'I've got to.  I've--'

Her youth seemed to flow into him, bearing him up into a delicate
romantic ecstasy that transcended passion.  He couldn't relinquish
it; he had discovered something that he had thought was lost with
his own youth forever.  As he walked along the passage he knew that
he had stopped thinking, no longer dared to think.

He met Eva going into the bar.

'Where've you been?' she asked with a strained smile.

'To see about the table.'

She was lovely; her cool distinction conquered the trite costume
and filled him with a resurgence of approval and pride.  They sat
down at a table.

The gale was rising hour by hour and the mere traversing of a
passage had become a rough matter.  In every stateroom trunks were
lashed to the washstands, and the Vestris disaster was being
reviewed in detail by nervous ladies, tossing, ill and wretched,
upon their beds.  In the smoking-room a stout gentleman had been
hurled backward and suffered a badly cut head; and now the lighter
chairs and tables were stacked and roped against the wall.

The crowd who had donned fancy dress and were dining together had
swollen to about sixteen.  The only remaining qualification for
membership was the ability to reach the smoking-room.  They ranged
from a Groton-Harvard lawyer to an ungrammatical broker they had
nicknamed Gyp the Blood, but distinctions had disappeared; for the
moment they were samurai, chosen from several hundred for their
triumphant resistance to the storm.

The gala dinner, overhung sardonically with lanterns and streamers,
was interrupted by great communal slides across the room,
precipitate retirements and spilled wine, while the ship roared and
complained that under the panoply of a palace it was a ship after
all.  Upstairs afterward a dozen couples tried to dance, shuffling
and galloping here and there in a crazy fandango, thrust around
fantastically by a will alien to their own.  In view of the
condition of tortured hundreds below, there grew to be something
indecent about it like a revel in a house of mourning, and
presently there was an egress of the ever-dwindling survivors
towards the bar.

As the evening passed, Eva's feeling of unreality increased.
Adrian had disappeared--presumably with Miss D'Amido--and her mind,
distorted by illness and champagne, began to enlarge upon the fact;
annoyance changed slowly to dark and brooding anger, grief to
desperation.  She had never tried to bind Adrian, never needed to--
for they were serious people, with all sorts of mutual interests,
and satisfied with each other--but this was a breach of the
contract, this was cruel.  How could he think that she didn't know?

It seemed several hours later that he leaned over her chair in the
bar where she was giving some woman an impassioned lecture upon
babies, and said:

'Eva, we'd better turn in.'

Her lip curled.  'So that you can leave me there and then come back
to your eighteen-year--'

'Be quiet.'

'I won't come to bed.'

'Very well.  Good night.'

More time passed and the people at the table changed.  The stewards
wanted to close up the room, and thinking of Adrian--her Adrian--
off somewhere saying tender things to someone fresh and lovely, Eva
began to cry.

'But he's gone to bed,' her last attendants assured her.  'We saw
him go.'

She shook her head.  She knew better.  Adrian was lost.  The long
seven-year dream was broken.  Probably she was punished for
something she had done; as this thought occurred to her the
shrieking timbers overhead began to mutter that she had guessed at
last.  This was for the selfishness to her mother, who hadn't
wanted her to marry Adrian; for all the sins and omissions of her
life.  She stood up, saying she must go out and get some air.

The deck was dark and drenched with wind and rain.  The ship
pounded through valleys, fleeing from black mountains of water that
roared towards it.  Looking out at the night, Eva saw that there
was no chance for them unless she could make atonement, propitiate
the storm.  It was Adrian's love that was demanded of her.
Deliberately she unclasped her pearl necklace, lifted it to her
lips--for she knew that with it went the freshest, fairest part of
her life--and flung it out into the gale.


When Adrian awoke it was lunchtime, but he knew that some heavier
sound than the bugle had called him up from his deep sleep.  Then
he realized that the trunk had broken loose from its lashings and
was being thrown back and forth between a wardrobe and Eva's bed.
With an exclamation he jumped up, but she was unharmed--still in
costume and stretched out in deep sleep.  When the steward had
helped him secure the trunk, Eva opened a single eye.

'How are you?' he demanded, sitting on the side of her bed.

She closed the eye, opened it again.

'We're in a hurricane now,' he told her.  'The steward says it's
the worst he's seen in twenty years.'

'My head,' she muttered.  'Hold my head.'


'In front.  My eyes are going out.  I think I'm dying.'

'Nonsense.  Do you want the doctor?'

She gave a funny little gasp that frightened him; he rang and sent
the steward for the doctor.

The young doctor was pale and tired.  There was a stubble of beard
upon his face.  He bowed curtly as he came in and, turning to
Adrian, said with scant ceremony:

'What's the matter?'

'My wife doesn't feel well.'

'Well, what is it you want--a bromide?'

A little annoyed by his shortness, Adrian said:  'You'd better
examine her and see what she needs.'

'She needs a bromide,' said the doctor.  'I've given orders that
she is not to have any more to drink on this ship.'

'Why not?' demanded Adrian in astonishment.

'Don't you know what happened last night?'

'Why, no, I was asleep.'

'Mrs Smith wandered around the boat for an hour, not knowing what
she was doing.  A sailor was sent to follow her, and then the
medical stewardess tried to get her to bed, and your wife insulted

'Oh, my heavens!' cried Eva faintly.

'The nurse and I had both been up all night with Steward Carton,
who died this morning.'  He picked up his case.  'I'll send down a
bromide for Mrs Smith.  Good-bye.'

For a few minutes there was silence in the cabin.  Then Adrian put
his arm around her quickly.

'Never mind,' he said.  'We'll straighten it out.'

'I remember now.'  Her voice was an awed whisper.  'My pearls.  I
threw them overboard.'

'Threw them overboard!'

'Then I began looking for you.'

'But I was here in bed.'

'I didn't believe it; I thought you were with that girl.'

'She collapsed during dinner.  I was taking a nap down here.'

Frowning, he rang the bell and asked the steward for luncheon and a
bottle of beer.

'Sorry, but we can't serve any beer to your cabin, sir.'

When he went out Adrian exploded:  'This is an outrage.  You were
simply crazy from that storm and they can't be so high-handed.
I'll see the captain.'

'Isn't that awful?' Eva murmured.  'The poor man died.'

She turned over and began to sob into her pillow.  There was a
knock at the door.

'Can I come in?'

The assiduous Mr Butterworth, surprisingly healthy and immaculate,
came into the crazily tipping cabin.

'Well, how's the mystic?' he demanded of Eva.  'Do you remember
praying to the elements in the bar last night?'

'I don't want to remember anything about last night.'

They told him about the stewardess, and with the telling the
situation lightened; they all laughed together.

'I'm going to get you some beer to have with your luncheon,'
Butterworth said.  'You ought to get up on deck.'

'Don't go,' Eva said.  'You look so cheerful and nice.'

'Just for ten minutes.'

When he had gone, Adrian rang for two baths.

'The thing is to put on our best clothes and walk proudly three
times around the deck,' he said.

'Yes.'  After a moment she added abstractedly:  'I like that young
man.  He was awfully nice to me last night when you'd disappeared.'

The bath steward appeared with the information that bathing was too
dangerous today.  They were in the midst of the wildest hurricane
on the North Atlantic in ten years; there were two broken arms this
morning from attempts to take baths.  An elderly lady had been
thrown down a staircase and was not expected to live.  Furthermore,
they had received the SOS signal from several boats this morning.

'Will we go to help them?'

'They're all behind us, sir, so we have to leave them to the
Mauretania.  If we tried to turn in this sea the portholes would be

This array of calamities minimized their own troubles.  Having
eaten a sort of luncheon and drunk the beer provided by
Butterworth, they dressed and went on deck.

Despite the fact that it was only possible to progress step by
step, holding on to rope or rail, more people were abroad than on
the day before.  Fear had driven them from their cabins, where the
trunks bumped and the waves pounded the portholes, and they awaited
momentarily the call to the boats.  Indeed, as Adrian and Eva stood
on the transverse deck above the second class, there was a bugle
call, followed by a gathering of stewards and stewardesses on the
deck below.  But the boat was sound: it had outlasted one of its
cargo--Steward James Carton was being buried at sea.

It was very British and sad.  There were the rows of stiff,
disciplined men and women standing in the driving rain, and there
was a shape covered by the flag of the Empire that lived by the
sea.  The chief purser read the service, a hymn was sung, the body
slid off into the hurricane.  With Eva's burst of wild weeping for
this humble end, some last string snapped within her.  Now she
really didn't care.  She responded eagerly when Butterworth
suggested that he get some champagne to their cabin.  Her mood
worried Adrian; she wasn't used to so much drinking and he wondered
what he ought to do.  At his suggestion that they sleep instead,
she merely laughed, and the bromide the doctor had sent stood
untouched on the washstand.  Pretending to listen to the
insipidities of several Mr Stacombs, he watched her; to his
surprise and discomfort she seemed on intimate and even sentimental
terms with Butterworth and he wondered if this was a form of
revenge for his attention to Betsy D'Amido.

The cabin was full of smoke, the voices went on incessantly, the
suspension of activity, the waiting for the storm's end, was
getting on his nerves.  They had been at sea only four days; it was
like a year.

The two Mr Stacombs left finally, but Butterworth remained.  Eva
was urging him to go for another bottle of champagne.

'We've had enough,' objected Adrian.  'We ought to go to bed.'

'I won't go to bed!' she burst out.  'You must be crazy!  You play
around all you want, and then, when I find somebody I--I like, you
want to put me to bed.'

'You're hysterical.'

'On the contrary, I've never been so sane.'

'I think you'd better leave us, Butterworth,' Adrian said.  'Eva
doesn't know what she's saying.'

'He won't go, I won't let him go.'  She clasped Butterworth's hand
passionately.  'He's the only person that's been half decent to

'You'd better go, Butterworth,' repeated Adrian.

The young man looked at him uncertainly.

'It seems to me you're being unjust to your wife,' he ventured.

'My wife isn't herself.'

'That's no reason for bullying her.'

Adrian lost his temper.  'You get out of here!' he cried.

The two men looked at each other for a moment in silence.  Then
Butterworth turned to Eva, said, 'I'll be back later,' and left the

'Eva, you've got to pull yourself together,' said Adrian when the
door closed.

She didn't answer, looked at him from sullen, half-closed eyes.

'I'll order dinner here for us both and then we'll try to get some

'I want to go up and send a wireless.'

'Who to?'

'Some Paris lawyer.  I want a divorce.'

In spite of his annoyance, he laughed.  'Don't be silly.'

'Then I want to see the children.'

'Well, go and see them.  I'll order dinner.'

He waited for her in the cabin twenty minutes.  Then impatiently he
opened the door across the corridor; the nurse told him that Mrs
Smith had not been there.

With a sudden prescience of disaster he ran upstairs, glanced in
the bar, the salons, even knocked at Butterworth's door.  Then a
quick round of the decks, feeling his way through the black spray
and rain.  A sailor stopped him at a network of ropes.

'Orders are no one goes by, sir.  A wave has gone over the wireless

'Have you seen a lady?'

'There was a young lady here--'  He stopped and glanced around.
'Hello, she's gone.'

'She went up the stairs!' Adrian said anxiously.  'Up to the
wireless room!'

The sailor ran up to the boat deck; stumbling and slipping, Adrian
followed.  As he cleared the protected sides of the companionway, a
tremendous body struck the boat a staggering blow and, as she
keeled over to an angle of forty-five degrees, he was thrown in a
helpless roll down the drenched deck, to bring up dizzy and bruised
against a stanchion.

'Eva!' he called.  His voice was soundless in the black storm.
Against the faint light of the wireless-room window he saw the
sailor making his way forward.


The wind blew him like a sail up against a lifeboat.  Then there
was another shuddering crash, and high over his head, over the very
boat, he saw a gigantic, glittering white wave, and in the split
second that it balanced there he became conscious of Eva, standing
beside a ventilator twenty feet away.  Pushing out from the
stanchion, he lunged desperately toward her, just as the wave broke
with a smashing roar.  For a moment the rushing water was five feet
deep, sweeping with enormous force towards the side, and then a
human body was washed against him, and frantically he clutched it
and was swept with it back towards the rail.  He felt his body bump
against it, but desperately he held on to his burden; then, as the
ship rocked slowly back, the two of them, still joined by his
fierce grip, were rolled out exhausted on the wet planks.  For a
moment he knew no more.


Two days later, as the boat train moved tranquilly south toward
Paris, Adrian tried to persuade his children to look out the window
at the Norman countryside.

'It's beautiful,' he assured them.  'All the little farms like
toys.  Why, in heaven's name, won't you look?'

'I like the boat better,' said Estelle.

Her parents exchanged an infanticidal glance.

'The boat is still rocking for me,' Eva said with a shiver.  'Is it
for you?'

'No.  Somehow, it all seems a long way off.  Even the passengers
looked unfamiliar going through the customs.'

'Most of them hadn't appeared above ground before.'

He hesitated.  'By the way, I cashed Butterworth's cheque for him.'

'You're a fool.  You'll never see the money again.'

'He must have needed it pretty badly or he would not have come to

A pale and wan girl, passing along the corridor, recognized them
and put her head through the doorway.

'How do you feel?'


'Me, too,' agreed Miss D'Amido.  'I'm vainly hoping my fiancÚ will
recognize me at the Gare du Nord.  Do you know two waves went over
the wireless room?'

'So we heard,' Adrian answered dryly.

She passed gracefully along the corridor and out of their life.

'The real truth is that none of it happened,' said Adrian after a
moment.  'It was a nightmare--an incredibly awful nightmare.'

'Then, where are my pearls?'

'Darling, there are better pearls in Paris.  I'll take the
responsibility for those pearls.  My real belief is that you saved
the boat.'

'Adrian, let's never get to know anyone else, but just stay
together always--just we two.'

He tucked her arm under his and they sat close.  'Who do you
suppose those Adrian Smiths on the boat were?' he demanded.  'It
certainly wasn't me.'

'Nor me.'

'It was two other people,' he said, nodding to himself.  'There are
so many Smiths in this world.'

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