On deck, the show is finally over. The ship has passed on, and the passengers begin to drift below. A few linger by the stairway, turning back to catch a final view of the rocky mass which, even as they gaze longingly at it, is melting back into the surrounding darkness.

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Perhaps, if they stood still and listened very hard, they would hear the passionate sounds that rise from Lucinda’s single-berth cabin on the B-deck.

Probably not. For, after all, on a sea of love one is used to such things, and few chances can have been taken with the sound-proofing.