"Not at all," said Wyndham, with a twinkle. "Keep it as high as you can for yourself, so long as you are willing to make some allowances for me." "That's a man's point of view," Flora remarked. "However, on the whole, you're very good. I really don't get many jars." She studied him and mused. Harry was all, or very nearly all, she had thought, and she was happy. Sometimes, perhaps, she wished he would give her a little more of his confidence, about the office for example. The control of the extending business was not easy; she saw he had cares he did not talk about. He was a handsome man and she approved the fastidious neatness of his white yachting clothes, but he looked fine-drawn. Flora rather liked this half-ascetic look; Harry had no gross passions to draw him away from her, although she sometimes feared she had a rival in his ambition. He was ambitious and did not tell her much about his plans. She looked about. Near the point, a little varnished boat shone in the strong light. Bob had taken Mabel for a row in the dinghy. "I'm sorry for them," she remarked. "Sorry for whom?" said Wyndham, and turned his head. "Oh, yes; it's hard for Bob! Mabel, no doubt, gets some satisfaction from feeling she's doing what she ought. I, myself, don't know if she ought or not, but this doesn't matter so long as Bob's persuaded. Well, I suppose she's worth waiting for and Bob is patient." "You are not patient," Flora rejoined. "You refused to wait." Wyndham gave her a twinkling smile. "No; I hadn't Bob's advantages. I seized my chance, and made a plunge. So, I think, did you!" "After all, I wasn't very rash. I knew you better than my friends; but I'll own to feeling proud because they're all satisfied. You were not very long persuading them." "It cost me something," said Wyndham quietly. "However, we'll let it go. I mean to have a lazy day and brace up for our climbing trip in the morning. I sent a message that we would need a car." Flora nodded and glanced at a peak that rose behind the hills across the sparkling strait. She was a mountaineer and sometimes wondered whether she liked best the high rocks or the sea. Then she turned and noted a long plume of smoke that rolled across the woods. "The early boat from town," she said. A steamer swung round the point and headed for the yacht, piling the oily water in a wave at her bows. The thud of her paddles nearly drowned the music of the band on board, and confused echoes rang among the trees. A group of passengers forward sang lustily and a row leaned against the rail. "She'll pass pretty close," said Wyndham. "I wonder whether anybody we know is on board." Flora picked up the glasses and Wyndham, resting on his elbow, turned his head. The steamer drove on, a feather of foam shooting up her stem, and Wyndham languidly studied the faces of the passengers. Then, when she was level with the yacht, he moved abruptly, for a short, thin man with a yellow face sat on a bench, looking at _Red Rose_.