The midday sun was veiled in a thick haze, and the heat was intense. The dust lay white upon the hedges, and eddied about their wheels as they passed. The sea stretched away indefinitely into the sky, leaden, motionless, with no sound of waves.
"I am sure there will be a storm," said Olga.
"A good thing if there is," said Nick.
"Yes, but Violet is terrified at thunder. She always has been."
"It won't break yet," he said.
Almost noiselessly the motor sped along the dusty road. All Olga's faculties became concentrated upon her task, and she spoke no more.
They reached the village. It seemed to be deserted in the slumbrous stillness. There was not so much as a dog to be seen.
Suddenly Nick spoke. "What became of Hunt-Goring?"
The colour leaped into her pale, tense face. "He landed us at the jetty, and went away again in his yacht."
"Let us hope he will go to the bottom!" said Nick.