"No."
"You were lying so still."
"Yes," said Cynthia. "I am storing this night up."
The swish and sparkle of the water along the boat's sides, the rattle of the chain as the helmsman spun the wheel, the quiet orders of her husband, the infinite peace of sky and sea, and the yacht like a jewel hung between them, were indeed to dwell long in Cynthia's memories. For their holiday was at an end. A sailor was sent ashore at Guernsey for the ship's letters and he brought them on board whilst Harry and Cynthia were at breakfast in the deck cabin. There was one for Rames with the Hickleton postmark stamped upon the envelope. Harry tore it open reluctantly.
"Carberley has resigned," he said. "There will be a meeting of the executive on Friday night to adopt young Burrell."
Cynthia looked out across the harbor.
"We ought to go back, oughtn't we?" she said slowly.
Harry glanced at his letter.
"It is not expected that the election will take place for five weeks," he answered.
Cynthia shook her head.