a header. "We've weathered the worst of it and we're still sound. The
storm centre has slipped away to the north, and we can count ourselves
out of the ruction for the present."

Her shapely hand clutched my wet oilskins as the yacht plunged from the
back of an enormous swell, and I was so busy noting the beauty of the
hand that I had no eye for the sallow face that peeped from the
companion. Leith's bass voice rose above the noise of the waves, and
there was an angry note in it.

"This isn't a nice place for you, Miss Edith!" he cried.

The girl half turned her head, looked at him for a second, then without
any intimation that she had heard what he said, she turned again toward
me and started to cross-examine me upon the amount of damage we had
sustained. I thought that the white, shapely hand tightened its grip
upon my wet sleeve at the moment Leith's bass voice came booming to our
ears, and I blessed the big brute's interference for the thrill which I
derived from the pressure of her fingers upon the greasy coat.

But Leith was not to be denied. The cold stare, instead of driving him
back into the cabin, only roused his temper. Very cautiously he climbed
along the heaving deck to the point where we were standing, and,
clutching a rope, he swayed backward and forward immediately behind us.

"Miss Edith!" he called.

The girl turned her head sharply. "Well?" she cried.

"This isn't a proper place for you!" roared Leith. "One of those seas is