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"Oh, damn the mummy. That woman's gone off and left that treasure locked up in her living room, as if it were a collection of dolls!"

Elliott stood beside Julie and Ramsey watching from the high railing as Alex kissed his mother at the foot of the gangplank far below.

"But I'm not here to cluck over you like a mother hen," Elliott said to Julie. Alex embraced his mother again and then hurried to board. "I only want to be close at hand if you need me. Please don't be so distressed."

Lord, he meant it. It hurt him to see the look on her face.

"But Henry, why on earth has Henry come along? I don't want Henry with us."

Henry had boarded only moments before without a civil word to anyone, looking as pale and overwrought and generally miserable as he had looked the day before.

"Yes, I know." Elliott sighed. "But my dear, he's your next of kin and--"

"Give me space to breathe, Elliott. You know I love Alex, I always have. But a marriage to me may not be the best thing for him. And I've been perfectly honest about it all along."

"I know, Julie, believe me, I know. I always have. But your friend--" He gestured to the distant figure of Ramsey, who was watching all the goings-on of the harbour with obvious excitement. "How are we not to worry? What are we to do?"

She could not resist him. That had always been the case. One night several months back, when she'd had too much champagne and there'd been entirely too much dancing, she'd told Elliott she was more in love with him than she'd been with Alex. If he'd been free and asking for her hand, it would have been a fait accompli. Of course Alex had thought she was joking. But there had been a strange secret look in her eye that flattered Elliott immensely. And he saw a pale flicker of that same look now. And what a liar he was. What a liar he was being just now.

"All right, Elliott," she said. She kissed him on the cheek, and he loved it. "I don't want to hurt Alex," she whispered.

"Yes, darling," he said. "Of course."

There was a violent blast from the steam whistle. The last call for boarding passengers. Parties had broken up in the staterooms, and a steady stream of guests was going ashore.

Suddenly Ramsey came pounding towards them. He spun Julie around as if he didn't realize his own strength. She stared blankly.

"Feel it, Julie, the vibrations. I must see these engines."

Her face softened at once. It was as if his excitement were contagious.

"Of course you must. Elliott, excuse me. I have to take Ramse ... I mean Mr. Ramsey ... to the engine room, if it can possibly be arranged."

"Allow me," Elliott said agreeably, motioning for a young officer in a crisp white uniform who had just come out on deck.

Alex was unpacking already when Elliott entered the little drawing room between their staterooms. Two steamer trunks stood open. Walter moved to and fro with armfuls of clothes.

"Well, this is pleasant, isn't it?" Elliott said, surveying the little couch and chairs, the tiny portal. There had not been much time to arrange for proper accommodations, but Edith had stepped in finally and seen to everything herself.

"You look tired, Father. Let me order you some tea."

The Earl eased himself into the little gilded fauteuil. Tea did sound rather nice. What was that fragrance? Were there flowers in this room? He saw none. Only the champagne in its glistening ice bucket and the glasses ready on the silver tray.

Then he remembered. The morning glory he had crushed into his pocket. It was still giving off a latent perfume.

"Yes, tea would be fine, Alex, but there's no hurry," he murmured. Reaching into his pocket, he found the mangled little blossom and drew it out and lifted it to his nose.

A very pretty scent indeed. And then he thought of that conservatory, overgrown fantastically with leaves and blossoms. He looked at the morning glory. As he watched, it straightened, the creases in its waxy petals disappearing. It opened completely and within seconds had become again a perfect bloom.

Alex was talking, but Elliott did not hear him. He merely looked stupidly at the flower. Then he crushed it again, tightly in the palm of his hand.

Slowly he looked up to see that Alex was just putting down the telephone.

"Tea in fifteen minutes," Alex said. "What's the matter, Father? Father, you're white as a--"

"Nothing. No. It's nothing. I want to rest now. Call me when the tea comes."

He stood up, the flower clenched still in his fist.