Weldon's experience was
more instructive. It taught him that, her hat awry and her yellow
hair loosened about her laughing face, Ethel Dent was tenfold more
attractive than when she made her usual decorous entrance to the
dining-room.
Mrs. Scott had been a willing chaperon and an efficient one.
Nevertheless, as they stood together in the stern, looking out
across the gold-flecked sea, Weldon felt that he had made a long
stride, that morning, towards acquaintance with his companion. And,
even now, the voyage was nearly all before them.
As if in answer to his thoughts, she lifted her eyes to his face.
"Twelve more days!" she said slowly.
"Are you sorry?"
She shook her head.
"Glad and sorry both. I love the sea; but home is at the end of it."
"You live out there?" he asked.
She smiled at the question. "Yes, if out there means Cape Town. At
least, my parents live there."
"How long have you been in England?" he queried, while, abandoning
all pretence of interest in the fast-vanishing town, he turned his
back to the rail in order to face his companion more directly.
"Always, except for one year, six years ago, and a summer--summer in
England, I mean--two years later.
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