Half an hour went by. She fidgeted and stooped to pat the setter. Then she went to the window. Slowly the fog was lifting. It hung like a filmy curtain, its frayed edges receding from a dull steel-blue sea and through it she could discern the irregular sweep of the channel and the shore opposite where dimly outlined stood the spired church and the huddle of houses clustered like wraiths about the curving margin of the bay. [76] [76] Yes, it was clearing. The tide had turned and a breeze sprung up. By afternoon the weather would be fine—just the right sort to get the boat off. She would go up the beach and watch the men while they worked. The house was close. She longed for air and the big reaches of the out-of-doors. A jingle of glass and silver! It was Sylvia returning with the tray. Her eyes were shining. "He ate every bit!" she cried. "You should have seen him, Marcia. It would have done your heart good. The poor lamb was almost starved. He asked for you the first thing. I don't think he altogether liked your not carrying up the tray, although of course, he was too polite to say so." "You explained I was busy?" "Yes. But at first he didn't seem satisfied with the excuse. However, he soon forgot about it and became gay as a lark. Didn't you hear us laughing? The potato would fall off the fork. I'm not as good a nurse as you. My hands weren't so steady. I'm going back again for his wet clothes. We can dry them here by the fire, can't we?" "Yes, indeed." "It's a pity there isn't a tailor at hand. His suit ought to be pressed." "I can do it," Marcia declared with eagerness.[77] "I'm quite used to pressing men's clothes. I always pressed Jason's." [77] This time the name dropped unnoticed from her lips. Indeed she was not conscious she had uttered it. She was not thinking of Jason. [78]
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