Marston said nothing. He had seen Wyndham's frown and imagined he had had enough. For a few moments Mabel studied both. She saw Bob wanted to talk about something else, but she did not mean to help him yet. His portrait of the old mulatto had given her ground for thought. For one thing, it had disturbed Wyndham, and she wondered why. She was not deceived when Wyndham laughed. "As a rule, Bob is not romantic, but he was ill before he left the lagoon and fever excites one's imagination. We'll let it go. Did you shift the ballast they stowed forward of _Red Rose_'s mast, Bob?" "I did. We moved half a ton of iron and she trims much better with it aft," Marston replied. Then they talked about the yacht until Mabel got up and took them to the drawing-room. She was curious, but in the meantime did not think her curiosity would be satisfied. Bob knew no more than he had told and it was plain that Wyndham meant to use reserve. CHAPTER V WYNDHAM CHANGES HIS PLAN There was no wind, the sun was hot, and the reflection of _Red Rose_'s mast and rigging trembled on the shining sea. She rode at anchor in a quiet bay, near the woods that rolled down to the smooth white boulders. Dark firs checkered the fresh green of the beeches and the bronzy yellow of the new oak leaves. The tide flowed smoothly past the yacht, and across the strait a lonely cloud threw a soft blue shadow on the scarred face of a lofty crag. Now and then the echoes of a blasting shot rolled among the hills. Flora sat in the yacht's cockpit. She wore a pale yellow dress that harmonized with her brown eyes and hair. Wyndham lay on the counter, smoking a cigarette, and when she thought he did not see her Flora gave him a careful glance. After a few days at sea, Harry's face was getting brown and he was losing his jaded look, but he was thin and she did not like the way his mouth was set. He had been working hard for some time, and now he had taken a holiday the strain he had borne did not relax. Flora did not altogether understand this, because things were going well with Wyndhams'. She looked up the strait. Not far off an old castle stood upon a lawn where a long green point ran out, and the spot had romantic memories for her. She had promised to marry Harry on the lawn, one summer night when the yacht's lanterns twinkled in the roadstead and colored fires burned on the castle walls. Wyndham lifted his head, and smiled when he saw where she was looking. "It is not very long since, scarcely twelve months, but much has happened in the meantime," he said. "How did you know--?" Flora asked and blushed. "Your thoughts were in your eyes; gentle thoughts. It looks as if you were not disillusioned yet!" "I'm not," said Flora, firmly. "For all that, I don't know if I like you when you're cynical." "It's a relapse, or perhaps a reaction. Living up to your standard is a bit of a strain now and then." "Would you sooner I lowered the standard?"