“May I smoke?”
She gave him permission, and he rose and stepped across to offer his case. She took a cigarette, but he seemed to change his mind, closed his case and put it back in his pocket. Then he re-seated himself in his old position.
“That’s stupid of me,” he exclaimed, as the girl looked at her unlighted cigarette. He drew out a little silver box and tossed it over to her. “Catch.”
He threw it so clumsily, that though she snatched at it in the air, she missed it, and was forced to reach over and pick it up.
“Sorry,” Westenhanger apologised, as she struck a match for herself.
He waited for some minutes before saying anything further. Eileen Cressage seemed to feel no desire for talk. She smoked slowly, and from time to time her eyes followed the tiny blue clouds as they drifted seaward on the faint airs which came from the land. Westenhanger was not deceived. She was still scanning the horizon-line in search of something. Suddenly he realised what the thing must be.
“I wonder how Mrs. Brent is getting on,” he said, watching the girl’s face as he spoke. “She hasn’t made any sign since she left.”
“How could she?”
“Oh, wireless. Most boats have it.”
“I wish the Kestrel had. But she hasn’t.”