"You do a good deal of that, Mr.--Mr.--" She paused suggestively.

But the man would not fill in the blank. He smoked on in silence.

The vessel was rolling somewhat heavily, and the splash of the drifting
foam reached them occasionally where they stood. There were no other
ladies in sight. Suddenly the clear, American voice broke through the
man's barrier of silence.

"I know quite well what you are, you know. You may just as well tell me
your name as leave me to find it out for myself."

He looked at her then for the first time, keenly, even critically. His
clean-shaven mouth wore a very curious expression.

"My name is West," he said, after a moment.

She nodded briskly.

"Your professional name, I suppose. You are a professional, of course?"

His eyes continued to watch her narrowly. They were blue eyes,
piercingly, icily blue.

"Why 'of course,' if one may ask?"

She laughed a light, sweet laugh, inexpressibly gay. Cynthia Mortimer
could be charmingly inconsequent when she chose.

"I don't think you are a bit clever, you know," she said. "I knew what