A brilliantly capable woman, an intellectual girl, and a gifted man could not well be in their social element in a deserted fjord, amidst gloomy mountains which weigh down men's minds and keep back all mental growth; but there was no sign of discomfort, no suspicion of boredom. This world was theirs, and with it they were content.
The stillness that had come over them was broken at length by the voice of Admiral Wylie, raised in the cabin below and heard through the open skylight.
'Brenda—little woman! Brenda—ahoy! Come and play to me!' cried the pleasantly raucous tones.
The girl rose from her seat at once, and passed down the little stairway with a light responsive laugh, leaving the other occupants of the deck in silence.
Presently the sound of her playing reached them. It was characteristic of herself: so perfectly trained, so technically faultless, and yet as innately and pathetically sweet, was it.
Trist moved restlessly at the sound of it, and Mrs. Wylie, watching him, saw the blue puffs of smoke follow each other with unnatural rapidity from his lips. She leant back, and drew her shawl cosily around her.
At length Trist spoke, busying himself with his pipe and giving it his full attention.
'Brenda,' he remarked conversationally, 'has been lecturing me upon the evils attending an excessive spirit of independence.'
'I have no doubt that her remarks were worthy of your consideration.'
'They were. Brenda's remarks generally are worthy of consideration.'