Wyndham's Pal by Harold Bindloss — Read

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'.