pose we drop the
'Mister' and the 'Marquis'--such rot, really--thanks. Well, Sophy--what
d'you think? Will you come along, too--eh?"

"No.... I don't think I can to-morrow, Cecil."

"Why not?"

"I ... I don't think I care to sail all day. The glare gives me a
headache if I'm out too long in it."

"Just as you like, of course. But I rather fancy 'twould do you good. A
bit of sunburn wouldn't hurt--you're looking a bit pale, I find. What do
you think, Amaldi? Don't you find Mrs. Chesney paler than she was in
England?"

"I don't think so," said Amaldi. His throat seemed to close.

He and Chesney went for that sail and several others. With a sort of
grim satisfaction Amaldi would tell himself on these occasions that the
more Chesney was with him the less his wife would see of him. He felt in
every fibre the relief it was to Sophy when her husband's towering
figure stepped over the side of _The Wind-Flower_ and was gone for long
hours together.

For the week following Chesney's arrival the weather had a crisp tang
quite autumnal; then suddenly it changed, becoming summer-like and even
sultry again. On the first day of this change Amaldi and Chesney were
out in _The Wind-Flower_ together. It was noon. The Tramontana had died
out. The Inverna had not yet risen. They had been running before the
wind, and now, when it suddenly ceased, the heat was intense.

Though Amaldi's sailor, Peppin, was always aboard, Chesney loved
handling the ropes himself when not at the tiller, which Amaldi insisted
on his taking most of the time. He had been springing about at a great
rate that morning, shifting the spinnaker. Now, all overheated and
sweltering in the breathless pause between the breezes of morning and
afternoon, he announced his intention of "going overboard for a swim."

Amaldi cautioned him that the September air played tricks on one, and
that the Inverna would probably blow rather strong that day.

"I don't think I'd do it," he said. "We've no extra coats aboard. You
might get badly chilled."

"'Chilled'?" echoed Chesney, with his most good-natured grin. "My dear
chap, that's what I'm hoping...."

He was getting out of his flannels as he spoke.

"I really wouldn't, you know," repeated Amaldi.

But Chesney only whipped his shirt over his head for reply; his feet
were already bare. And against the blazing mainsail, in the full glare
of sunshine, he stood there naked--a magnificent, glistering shape of
manhood that