Seeing Gilbert pacing the veranda like a bear with a sore ear, she told Harry Oldershaw to leave her to her sun bath and signalled to Gilbert to come down to the edge of the beach.

The others were still in the sea.

He joined her with a sort of reluctance, with a look of gall and ire in his eyes that was becoming characteristic.

There was all about him the air of a man who had been sleeping badly.

His face was white and drawn, and his fingers were never still.