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"Well, he can do nothing in a light wind like this; and before the wind we can show him our heels: but are you sure the other is a yacht?" said Pickersgill, coming on deck. "Yes; the king is more careful of his canvas." "You're right," said Pickersgill, "that is a yacht; and you're right there again in your guess that is the stupid old Active which creeps about creeping for tubs.
She stood on the deck of the yacht as she steamed away from the jetty, and watched the uneven shore recede with a feeling of impotence that was not without an element of fear. For it seemed to her that she was a prisoner, looking her last upon the liberty of her youth. The vessel was of no inconsiderable size and moved swiftly through the still water, cleaving her way like a bird through space.
It ought to be your greatest protection, but it is not. I would that your yacht was in the river this very hour and that we could make haste to it, for you are in greater danger than you suspect." The cheek of the American blanched, and she looked earnestly at her friend, as if she did not take in the full meaning of her words. She spoke in a whisper: "Tell me what you mean."
"Have I conquest in my eye?" How seldom did Junia have Carnac to herself in these days! How kind of Fabian to lend his yacht for the purpose of canvassing! But Sibyl had in her mind a deeper thing she had become a match-maker. She and Fabian, when the boat left the shore, went to one corner of the stern, leaving Carnac and Junia in the bow.
Mr Appleboy went up to have a look at them, ordered the cutter to be hove to, and then went down to finish his allowance of gin-toddy. At twelve o'clock, the yacht Arrow made the Portland lights, and continued her course, hardly stemming the ebb tide. Day broke, and the horizon was clear.
It was only an inconsequent incident, and a moment later both had forgotten it. By and by they proceeded to the Casino. Rarely women wear veils at Monte Carlo. Thus, these two were fully aware of the interest they excited. At frequent intervals royalty the feminine side of the family steals into Monte Carlo, often unattended. When one's yacht is in the harbor below, it does not entail much danger.
Perhaps; but ten times worse for a larger craft, for the latter would be shattered on the shoals, where the bit of a yacht would find plenty of water under her; that is, if she did not, at the same time, find too much water over her. "Can't we go back through the inlet in the bar?" asked Ford. "Not with this wind in our teeth, and it's getting worse every minute.
I did not want to have him talk to me. My present intention was to go to the yacht as soon as it was reasonable to suppose that its passengers were awake, to see Mrs. Raynor, and say to her what I had to say.
"Yes, she is a nice-looking boat," Bertha agreed, "and if her sails were white and her ropes neat and trim, she would look like a yacht, except for those big yards." "Her skipper must be a lubber to have the ropes hanging about like that.
A fresh-colored young fellow, with voluminous and curly brown hair, who has dressed himself as a yachtsman, calls out, "Lavender, do you know the White Rose, a big schooner yacht? about eighty tons I should think." "Yes," Lavender said, without turning round or taking his eyes off the canvas. "Whose is she?" "Lord Newstead's."
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