Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. After quarter of an hour, she followed. Something he saw there had a curious effect upon him. Lucy went downstairs to prepare the hot cocoa that would be the last hot drink of the season, ruefully spiking the liquid with Nytol, just one tablet dissolved in a little warm water. The wheel and the navigating instruments were sternward, under a spread of heavy canvas, a protection against rain and sun. His face was that of a quick, intelligent-looking boy, with fine hazel eyes, and a clear olive complexion. They say it hasn't been opened for eight years—but I won't be eight years in getting out of it. ‘Yes, a very sad story,’ agreed the major.
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