eddying tide. The last race was over and the townsfolk had given the crews a feast before the fleet dispersed.
Marston sat on a broken wall, talking to Deva's owner about the race along the coast. Elliot was a friend of Marston's. Chisholm, the commodore's young son, stood close by, smoking a cigarette.
"You beat us handsomely and Wyndham deserves the cup for his pluck in carrying on when we were forced to lower our topsail," Elliot admitted. "Still something was due to luck; you got the last of the stream along the shore when the tide running down the river carried the rest of us back."
"Wyndham has a talent for that kind of thing," said Marston. "Sometimes you feel he, so to speak, thinks like a fish. He doesn't need to calculate when the tide will turn and where he'll find slack water. He knows."
"Wyndham has a talent for getting what he wants," Chisholm interposed. "Deva ought to have beaten Red Rose."
"Aren't you rather young to judge?" Marston asked, with a touch of dryness.
"Oh, well," said the lad, "I like a man who loses now and then. You can understand that kind of fellow."
Elliot frowned. He could take a beating; but he was curious and looked at Marston thoughtfully.
"I suppose you didn't see the Knoll buoy?"
"We did not," Marston replied. "There was something on the water in the haze, but it was too small for the buoy. Wyndham thought it a gull, a big black-back; his sight is pretty good."
"How did the thing bear?"
Marston hesitated, because he saw where the question led, but he was honest.
"Nearly ahead; a point or two to starboard. Anyhow, it vanished, although, as we didn't change our course, we must have passed the spot rather close," he replied, forgetting that he was below when the object vanished.
"Then it was a gull," Elliot agreed, but Chisholm was not satisfied.
"Elliot's a sportsman; I don't know if I am or not, because I was on board Deva and feel hurt we didn't get the cup. Wyndham's a smart skipper, but his luck's too good. One's inclined to doubt a man who always gets a prize. My notion is, it isn't altogether due to skill. Besides, I think the commodore would have liked Elliot to win the cup."
"You're not a tactful lad and perhaps you're not in very good form just now," Elliot remarked. "We'll go along and hear the band."
They went off and Marston lighted his pipe. He was rather angry with young Chisholm, because he was persuaded Wyndham had not seen the buoy. Harry was not the man to win a race by a shabby trick; Marston trusted his friends.
In the meantime, Wyndham and Flora Chisholm occupied a bench in a quiet corner of the castle wall. Now and then a colored fire blazed up on the battlements and red reflections flickered about the crowded lawn, but there were dark intervals when they saw the water sparkle and the black hills across the strait. When the band stopped, one heard the soft splash of the tide, and the choir singing old Welsh airs. Flora was young and felt the glamour of the calm moonlight night.
Moreover, there was something strangely romantic about Wyndham. He was handsome and marked by a dashing recklessness that rather carried one away. Flora liked his pluck and bold seamanship. Her father was an old navy man and the yacht club commodore, and she had inherited his love for the sea. She had watched the finish of the race from the flag-boat, and had seen Red Rose reel past, horribly pressed by sail. Fine skill and steady nerve were needed to bring the old boat in first.
Perhaps this was not important, but it was typical of Harry Wyndham; he ran risks and laughed. It was bracing to know him and flattering to feel that he was drawn to her. Yet Flora had some doubts; after all, she had not known Wyndham long and he had drawbacks. He was poor, some of her friends distrusted him, and Chisholm had given hints – he approved Jim Elliot, and Flora thought Jim loved her. When Wyndham was away she hesitated and wondered whether she was rash; when he was near she thrilled and caution vanished. Presently she roused herself and began to talk.
Wyndham got a hint of strain and his heart beat. He imagined Flora was vaguely alarmed by his power to move her, but she did not go away. Although her fresh beauty had first attracted him, he soon saw she had qualities that strengthened her charm; she was proud, with a clean pride, honest, and plucky. All the same, he was poor; his people were known for their romantic extravagance and a touch of moral laxity. The business of which he had recently taken control languished and had not been very scrupulously carried on. Yet Wyndham was not daunted, and his love for the girl was sincere.
"Things will look different to-morrow when the boats have gone and the little town goes to sleep again," he said. "I feel doleful. The holiday's nearly over and soon after sunrise there'll be nothing left but a happy memory."
"Then you make an early start?"
"At half ebb; three or four o'clock. One wishes the night would last. Nights like this are not numerous."
"You ought to be satisfied. You won the cup."
"I meant to win. For one thing, you wished me luck."
Flora blushed and wondered whether he could see her face. "After all, that was not much help," she said. "My wishing you luck wouldn't alter the wind and tide."
"It gave me an object and a stimulus. We are a curious lot and much depends on our mood. When one's braced enough, obstacles don't count. One runs risks and wins."
Flora was fastidious and got a faint jar. Yet she knew he was not a boaster; he did what he said. Besides, she was flattered.
"You are stopping for a few days, with the Commodore?" he resumed.
Flora said she was and he frowned. "I must go. I ought not to have taken the holiday, but the temptation was strong. Now I must make up for the lost time."
"Your new business keeps you occupied?"
"Yes; it claims all my thought, though now and then I deny the claim. The sea pulls and a boat's a fascinating toy; but a time comes when one must put one's toys away."
"For all that, you came to the regattas and won the cup."
Wyndham smiled and, for the moon was bright, Flora noted the reckless sparkle in his eyes.
"You know why I came and why I won the cup," he said. "Perhaps I'm vain, but I wanted you to see I could beat the others whose toys are all that occupy them. I have not their luck, and my object for coming drives me back to town. If I'm to realize my ambitions, I have got to work."
"Then you are ambitious?" Flora remarked and looked away.
"Very," he replied quietly. "I know my drawbacks and they must be removed. I have inherited the responsibilities of an embarrassed house. My job's to repair its credit, wipe out debts, and make Wyndhams' respected, as it was respected once. A big job, but the ambition behind it gives me driving force."
He paused and gave her a steady look. "Your father's friends are merchants and shipowners. You know I have much to build up and something to live down."
Flora was quiet for a moment or two. She had heard her friends talk about Wyndhams' and it was plain that they thought the new head of the house something of an adventurer. For all that, she was moved. She liked his frankness and his resolution. Looking about, she saw Marston and a girl she knew cross the lawn, and was tempted to join them. Had it not been for the glamour of the moonlight and sparkling sea, she might
