He could not help noticing that her figure drooped perceptibly.

In his mind's eye he saw her as she was but two days before, straight, graceful, full of the joy of living, with a stride that was free and swinging.

He recalled her lovely, inquiring grey eyes as she stared at him on that ignominious afternoon, the parted red lips and the smile that came to them, the smartly dressed hair, the jaunty hat, the trim sport suit of tan-coloured jersey--he recalled the alluring picture she made that day, and sadly shook his head.
"Poor girl," he said to himself, and walked slowly in the opposite direction, favouring his left leg.
He went down to see the Captain.

The old seadog was stretched out in his berth, a look of pain and utter despair in his eyes.

One of the Russian dancers, a rather pretty girl of a distinctly Slavic type, was cleaning up the room.