I was smoking a quiet digestive cigar.

Hilda was seated in her deck chair next to me.
The lady with the husband looked about her for a vacant space on which to place the chair a steward was carrying for her.

There was plenty of room on the quarter-deck.

I could not imagine why she gazed about her with such obtrusive caution.

She inspected the occupants of the various chairs around with deliberate scrutiny through a long-handled tortoise-shell optical abomination.