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"
He glanced out impatiently over the Fjord. There was no sign of his
returning yacht as yet.
"What a time those fellows are!" he said to himself. "If the pilot were
not on board, I should begin to think they had run the _Eulalie_
aground."
He finished his cigar and threw the end of it into the water; then he
stood moodily watching the ripples as they rolled softly up and caressed
the shining brown shore at his feet, thinking all the while of that
strange girl, so wonderfully lovely in face and form, so graceful and
proud of bearing, with her great blue eyes and masses of dusky gold
hair.
His meeting with her was a sort of adventure in its way--the first of
the kind he had had for some time. He was subject to fits of weariness
or caprice, and it was in one of these that he had suddenly left London
in the height of the season, and had started for Norway on a yachting
cruise with three chosen companions, one of whom, George Lorimer, once
an Oxford fellow-student, was now his "chum"--the Pythias to his Damon,
the _fidus Achates_ of his closest confidence.


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