“‘All in good time,’ you answered, laughing softly, and slipped your arm through mine.
“We strolled down to the beach and watched a blood-red sunset.
“A sudden wind arose, gusty and fitful, blowing countless little white caps across the bay.
“A French woman, who, with her two daughters, had taken a hunting lodge near by for the season, joined us on the beach. We found them pleasant neighbours, vivacious and amusing. Madame de Villebois had walked along the shore. ‘Mes filles’ were out sailing, in their little ‘barquette à voile.’ Presently it leapt into view, rounding the point; a pretty picture in the sunset glow.
“Seated upon the rocks just below this cliff, we watched the tiny skiff dancing and curtseying toward the middle of our bay.
“‘Gusty for sailing,’ you remarked; and the next moment we could see that they were in difficulties. The sail flapped loose, then bellied suddenly, and the boat lurched.
“‘Oh, Sir Nigel,’ cried madame, with clasped hands, ‘bring out your rowing boat and go to help them!’
“‘I’m awfully sorry,’ you said; ‘but the boat is under repairs.’
“At that instant the sail belched again; the girls stood up; the skiff heeled over, and they were flung into the water.
“Then followed a pandemonium of screaming. Madame shrieked, and flew to the water’s edge, crying: ‘Sir Nigel, save them! Save them! Oh, mon Dieu! Mes enfants!’