"I try to be—I try hard, Bertha; but just at present it is beyond me. I cannot stand by and see you going—" and he stopped abruptly.
"Well, never mind, Bertha. It will all come right in time, but at any rate I cannot stand it at present. Goodbye."
And without giving her time to reply, he hastily left the room.
Bertha stood silent for a minute or two, then quietly followed him out of the room.
The next day Ryde was astir early. It was the Queen's Cup day. Eight yachts were entered: three schooners––the Rhodope, the Isobel, and the Mayflower; four cutters––the Pearl, the Chrysalis, the Alacrity, and the Phantom; and the Osprey, which was the only yawl. It was half-past eight, and all were under way under mainsail and jib.
The Solent was alive with yachts. They were pouring out from Southampton water, they were coming up from Cowes, and some were making their way across from Portsmouth. The day was a fine one for sailing.
"Have you got the same extra hands as last time?" Frank asked the skipper.
"All the same, sir. They all know their work well, and of course if there is anything to be done aloft, our own men go up. I don't think any of them will beat us in smartness."
As the time approached for the start, the racers began to gather in the neighbourhood of the starting line; and as the five-minutes gun fired, the topsail went up, and they began to sail backwards and forwards near it.
As the Phantom crossed under the lee of the Osprey, the three ladies waved their handkerchiefs to Frank, who took off his cap.