casually upon Adrian.
'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 child.'
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.'