Butterworth sat down on the deck beside her chair.
'They're operating on one of the stewards this morning. Must be terrible in this sea.'
'Operating? What for?' she asked listlessly.
'Appendicitis. They have to operate now because we're going into worse weather. That's why they're having the ship's party tonight.'
'Oh, the poor man!' she cried, realizing it must be her steward.
Adrian was showing off now by being very courteous and thoughtful in the game.
'Sorry. Did you hurt yourself? . . . No, it was my fault. . . You better put on your coat right away, pardner, or you'll catch cold.'
The match was over and they had won. Flushed and hearty, he came up to Eva's chair.
'How do you feel?'
'Terrible.'