III.
When Adrian awoke it was lunchtime, but he knew that some heavier sound than the bugle had called him up from his deep sleep. Then he realized that the trunk had broken loose from its lashings and was being thrown back and forth between a wardrobe and Eva’s bed. With an exclamation he jumped up, but she was unharmed—still in costume and stretched out in deep sleep. When the steward had helped him secure the trunk, Eva opened a single eye.
‘How are you?’ he demanded, sitting on the side of her bed.
She closed the eye, opened it again.
‘We’re in a hurricane now,’ he told her. ‘The steward says it’s the worst he’s seen in twenty years.’
‘My head,’ she muttered. ‘Hold my head.’
‘How?’
‘In front. My eyes are going out. I think I’m dying.’
‘Nonsense. Do you want the doctor?’
She ga
