Guy acceded to the request. The breeze freshened again, and for another hour the water rippled musically under their bows. Then the breeze died away completely.
Guy shrugged his shoulders. "There's nothing for it but a policy of masterly inaction," he said. "Don't you think it is time for a cup of tea?"
He relinquished the tiller to his companion and dived below to light the stove, and place the kettle upon it. By the time the kettle boiled an absolute calm had fallen, the sea might have served as a mirror, the sails hung straight and still, the heat had become almost oppressive.
Neither Meriel nor Guy were troubled. They were together, and although the boat seemed motionless they were drifting homewards. Guy especially was in no anxiety to return. Tea drunk and the cups washed and put away, Guy brought cushions from the cabin and made a comfortable couch on deck for Meriel, while he sat by the helm looking down upon her.
Their talk became personal. Meriel's confidences were those of a pure-hearted girl, and Guy, listening, longed to repay confidence with confidence. If he only dared! But his risks were too great. How could this pure girl be brought to comprehend his point of view? Yet he knew that some day he must make the effort. Perhaps if she cared enough for him she might strive to understand. If she cared enough! Yes, that was the whole question. Her views were so totally opposed to those which he had imbibed from his earliest youth, those which he knew now to be hopelessly wrong—not through any intellectual conviction, but merely by his intuition of what would be his companion's attitude towards them. He would make her understand how he came to have held such views and where they had led him. But not if she did not care. He could not win her under false pretences. She must know all about him, exactly what he was, the hidden life which none save Lynton Hora and Myra knew. Yet first he must know if she did care for him, otherwise such confidence would be treachery to Hora. His thoughts constrained him to silence. When his replies became monosyllabic Meriel looking up saw that his countenance had become overcast. She, too, became silent.
The boat drifted.
Meriel lay back on the cushions. Her eyes half-closed. She wondered what thought could be troubling her companion. She glanced up again and met his eyes.
"Something is troubling you," she demanded suddenly.
"Yes, something is troubling me," answered Guy moodily. With an impulsive gesture the girl held out her hand. Guy grasped it. The little sunbrowned hand was not withdrawn.
"Can I help?" she asked quietly.