until she is really a widow. It's
quite natural that she should feel lonely just now, for instance. The
mere absence of the excitement she's been accustomed to for so long
would have a depressing effect on her."

CHAPTER XI.

Meldon was a man who liked to get the full possible measure of
enjoyment out of his holidays. He counted the hours of daylight which
he spent in bed as wasted, and although always late for breakfast, was
generally up and active before any other member of the Major's
household. On Monday morning he got out of bed at half-past five and
went down to the sea to bathe. He wore nothing except his pyjamas and
an old pair of canvas shoes, and so was obliged to go back to his
bedroom again after his swim. As he passed Major Kent's door he
hammered vigorously on it with his fist. When he thought he had made
noise enough to awaken his friend, he turned the handle of the door,
put his head into the room, and shouted,--

"Splendid day. Absolutely the best possible; first-rate sailing
breeze, and no prospect of rain."

Major Kent growled in reply.

"What's that you say?"

"Confound you, J. J. Get out of that. What's the good of waking me at
this hour?"

Meldon opened the door a little wider and stepped into the room.

"I thought you'd like to know about the weather," he said. "It's
extremely important for us to secure a really first-rate day. If it
turned out that we could do nothing but lollop about half a mile from
the shore in a dead calm, poor Simpkins wouldn't have a chance; or if--"

"Go away, J. J."

"And if it were to come on a downpour of rain, his spirits would be so
damped that he'd never get himself worked up to the pitch of--"

"I suppose I may as well get up," said the Major despairingly.

"Not the least necessity for that," said Meldon. "You can sleep for
another hour and a half at least. It can't be more than half-past six,
and allowing time for the most elaborate toilet you can possibly want
to make, you needn't get up till eight. I should say myself that you'd
sleep much more comfortably now you know that the day is going to be
fine. Nothing interferes with slumber more radically than any anxiety
of mind."

The weather was all that Meldon said it was; but his satisfaction with
it turned out to be ill-founded. It was based on a miscalculation.
What seemed to him a desirable sailing breeze was a cause of grave
discomfort to half the party.

Simpkins began