Just then the sound of the piano and the fiddle in the saloon ceased.
One of the waltzes was over, and some of the dancers came upon deck to
flirt or to cool themselves. One pair, engaged very obviously in the
former occupation, stationed themselves so near to Robert and Benita
that further conversation between them was impossible, and there
proceeded to interchange the remarks common to such occasions.

For a good ten minutes did they stand thus, carrying on a mock quarrel
as to a dance of which one of them was supposed to have been defrauded,
until Robert Seymour, generally a very philosophical person, could have
slain those innocent lovers. He felt, he knew not why, that his chances
were slipping away from him; that sensation of something bad about to
happen, of which Benita had spoken, spread from her to him. The suspense
grew exasperating, terrible even, nor could it be ended. To ask her to
come elsewhere was under the circumstances not feasible, especially as
he would also have been obliged to request the other pair to make way
for them, and all this time, with a sinking of the heart, he felt that
probably Benita was beating down any tenderness which she might feel
towards him; that when her long-delayed answer did come the chances were
it would be "No."

The piano began to play again in the saloon, and the young people, still
squabbling archly, at length prepared to depart. Suddenly there was a
stir upon the bridge, and against the tender sky Robert saw a man dash
forward. Next instant the engine-room bell rang fiercely. He knew the
signal--it was "Stop," followed at once by other ringings that meant
"Full speed astern."

"I wonder what is up?" said the young man to the young woman.