THE LUCK OF THE IRISH
never wanted to return to the shell. He knew that once he had it all buckled on again, he would review his conduct through the old microscopic lenses, which he did.
He had acted like an abysmal brute. He had hurt her; and things would never be the same as they had been. But her danger had driven him wild. And always the haunting memory of her body, warm and palpitating, against his. He thought of it as he dressed and tried to stamp out the thought. It was with him in the practically deserted dining-saloon, in the smoke-room later; it followed him back to his cabin, into his dreams, and it was with him in the morning when the storm was a thing of the past.
Calm returned; and the two picked up life where they had dropped it prior to the storm. By tacit agreement they never referred to the episode. Then they came to Ceylon, beautiful isle of spices; and the perverse little twist in their lives became forgotten.
One afternoon, after the return from Kandy, William went alone to the landing-pier in the harbor of Colombo. He saw the yacht Elsa in the offing.
