Page 391 - tender-is-the-night

should not be cheaply compromised for a momentary self-
indulgence.
As they passed through the principal salon they saw
ahead of them figures that seemed to dance in the half light
of the circular stern. This was an illusion made by the en-
chantment of the music, the unfamiliar lighting, and the
surrounding presence of water. Actually, save for some busy
stewards, the guests loafed on a wide divan that followed
the curve of the deck. There were a white, a red, a blurred
dress, the laundered chests of several men, of whom one,
detaching and identifying himself, brought from Nicole a
rare little cry of delight.
‘Tommy!’
Brushing aside the Gallicism of his formal dip at her
hand, Nicole pressed her face against his. They sat, or rather
lay down together on the Antoninian bench. His handsome
face was so dark as to have lost the pleasantness of deep tan,
without attaining the blue beauty of Negroes—it was just
worn leather. The foreignness of his depigmentation by un-
known suns, his nourishment by strange soils, his tongue
awkward with the curl of many dialects, his reactions at-
tuned to odd alarms—these things fascinated and rested
Nicole—in the moment of meeting she lay on his bosom,
spiritually, going out and out... . Then self-preservation
reasserted itself and retiring to her own world she spoke
lightly.
‘You look just like all the adventurers in the movies—but
why do you have to stay away so long?’
Tommy Barban looked at her, uncomprehending but

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