Why on earth do you cut and run this way ?" "No man in his proper senses really knows why he does anything.
Seriously, Portlaw, my party is ended--" "Destiny gave Ulysses a proud party that lasted ten years; wasn't it ten, Malcourt ?" demanded Portlaw.

"Stay with us, son; you've nine years and eleven months of being a naughty boy coming to you--including a few Circes and grand slams--" "He's met his Circe," cut in Malcourt, leaning languidly over the rail; "she's wearing a scarlet handkerchief this season--" Portlaw, laughing fatly, nodded.

"Louis discovered your Circe through the glasses climbing into your boat--" "What a busy little beast you are, Malcourt," observed Hamil, annoyed, glancing down at the small boat alongside.
"'Beast' is good! You mean the mere sight of her transformed Louis into the classic shote," added Portlaw, laughing louder as Hamil, still smiling through his annoyance, went over the side.

And a moment later the gig shot away into the star-set darkness.
From the bridge Wayward wearily watched it through his night glasses; Malcourt, slim and graceful, sat on the rail and looked out into the Southern dusk, an unlighted cigarette between his lips.
"That kills our four at Bridge," grumbled Portlaw, leaning heavily beside him.

"We'll have to play Klondike and Preference now, or call in the ship's cat....