For the first hour and a half of that memorable sail, the Kelpie ran lightly before a delicate breeze. An eager girl at the prow, a watchful woman at the stern, youth and manhood on board—a cargo of fair hopes borne along under skies of summer to airs of extreme sweetness. It was the very light opera of seafaring and of life. No faintest hint of the weightier merchandise—for which mankind takes risks.
Julian looked back at the receding coast-line. "How gloriously Glenfallon stands!" He quoted, "'A great sea mark outstanding every flaw!'"
Innocent as it was, the comment seemed not to please Miss Greta. She thought the castle was "probably not so great a 'sea mark' as it looks to us."
Julian assured her that you could see Glenfallon tower, "Well, a long way beyond those cruisers."
"What cruisers?" All eyes except Miss Greta's swept the horizon. And all found it featureless, till Bobby picked out a couple of dun-gray shapes.
Nan looked at Julian with frank admiration. "My! what wonderful eyes you must have! I can't see a thing!"
"Pooh! Mr. Grant isn't a patch on Ernst Pforzheim," said Bobby.
"Oh, you and your Pforzheims!" Julian scoffed.
With his Scotch tenacity, Bobby stuck to his guns. "All I'm saying is, Mr. Ernst can do better than see a ship when it's so far away nobody else knows there's a ship there at all. He can tell you what she is!"
"Any one with good sight," said Miss Greta, "can be trained." In German schools, she went on, a study of silhouettes was just part of the ordinary discipline of the eye.