gets up to more than seventy miles an hour. I certainly hope we don’t run into one in the next two weeks.”
“It isn’t likely,” he assured her. “The hurricane period is usually from August to October. They very rarely occur during the tourist season. We do have storms occasionally, but they’re nothing like a full-scale cyclone.”
“What happens when there is a bad hurricane?” Angela enquired.
“One gets under cover and waits until it’s blown itself out,” Stephen said casually. “We usually get a reasonable warning.” He turned back to Mrs. Stuyvesant. “As a matter of fact your New England seaboard seems to get the brunt of them nowadays. Up to the war, they generally blew out over the Atlantic, but now that the polar air-stream has changed direction, the States often take a worse battering than we do.”
“Why, yes, guess that’s so—but living way over in Minneapolis, we don’t seem to appreciate it somehow. I’m certainly glad we don’t have such frights in Minnesota,” she said feelingly. “I know it’s silly of me, but even an ordinary thunderstorm just scares me right out of my wits. I guess I’d die of fright if I got caught up in a hurricane.”
There was a pause in conversation while the waiter brought fresh glasses of bitter-sweet rum punch and removed the empty ones.
Then Stephen looked at Angela again and said:
“I’m driving Sara up to the pine barren tomorrow afternoon, Miss Gordon. Perhaps you’d like to join us if you haven’t any other plans.”
Angela flickered a glance at Sara, but before she could reply, Conrad said, “Miss Angela and I are going to try our luck at this deep-sea fishing tomorrow. Maybe you’d care to join us, Mr. Rand. We’d be very glad to have you with us. You’re probably something of an expert if you live here. We’ll be starting out around ten and making a long day of it.”
Stephen turned to Sara. “Would you prefer that?” There was the suspicion of twinkle in his eyes, as if he knew very well that she would not prefer it, but that she might hesitate to say so.
Fortunately Mrs. Stuyvesant decided the issue for her. “I think maybe Sara might find a whole day on the water a shade too strenuous just yet,” she suggested. “A drive up to the forest would certainly be more relaxing. Why don’t we all meet for late dinner tomorrow night and then maybe go on to a club?” Nobody offered any objection to this, so Stephen said, “Then I’ll meet you in the foyer about noon, Sara.”
Presently, he persuaded Mrs. Stuyvesant to dance with him and Conrad and Angela followed them, leaving Sara and Peter again.
He had been staring into his glass for several minutes, and although he asked her to dance Sara had a feeling that he was no longer in a convivial mood.
“I think I’d rather sit out this time. I’m not tired, but I feel rather lazy now,” she said with a smile.
“You are too warm perhaps. Shall we take a stroll on the terrace for a few moments?”
The dining tables had been cleared away and groups of cane chairs and loungers set out, but there was no one else on the terrace when they reached it. After the scented and cigar-heavy atmosphere of the ballroom, the light breeze coming over the harbour was pleasantly fresh and revitalizing.
It was almost one o’clock now, but somewhere out on the wharves a negro was crooning a calypso, and the flickering glow of a brazier lit the deck of an anchored schooner. The water, silvered by moonlight, hushed gently against the hulls of the yachts and cruisers, and when Sara looked up, the sky was an infinity of stars.
“How beautiful it is,” she said softly. She looked across towards Hog Island and thought of the Paradise Beach where she had bathed with Stephen this morning—no, it was yesterday morning now!—and of how much she would like to be there again at this moment, swimming in the calm moonlit water and then building a driftwood fire and frying chipolatas for
“It isn’t likely,” he assured her. “The hurricane period is usually from August to October. They very rarely occur during the tourist season. We do have storms occasionally, but they’re nothing like a full-scale cyclone.”
“What happens when there is a bad hurricane?” Angela enquired.
“One gets under cover and waits until it’s blown itself out,” Stephen said casually. “We usually get a reasonable warning.” He turned back to Mrs. Stuyvesant. “As a matter of fact your New England seaboard seems to get the brunt of them nowadays. Up to the war, they generally blew out over the Atlantic, but now that the polar air-stream has changed direction, the States often take a worse battering than we do.”
“Why, yes, guess that’s so—but living way over in Minneapolis, we don’t seem to appreciate it somehow. I’m certainly glad we don’t have such frights in Minnesota,” she said feelingly. “I know it’s silly of me, but even an ordinary thunderstorm just scares me right out of my wits. I guess I’d die of fright if I got caught up in a hurricane.”
There was a pause in conversation while the waiter brought fresh glasses of bitter-sweet rum punch and removed the empty ones.
Then Stephen looked at Angela again and said:
“I’m driving Sara up to the pine barren tomorrow afternoon, Miss Gordon. Perhaps you’d like to join us if you haven’t any other plans.”
Angela flickered a glance at Sara, but before she could reply, Conrad said, “Miss Angela and I are going to try our luck at this deep-sea fishing tomorrow. Maybe you’d care to join us, Mr. Rand. We’d be very glad to have you with us. You’re probably something of an expert if you live here. We’ll be starting out around ten and making a long day of it.”
Stephen turned to Sara. “Would you prefer that?” There was the suspicion of twinkle in his eyes, as if he knew very well that she would not prefer it, but that she might hesitate to say so.
Fortunately Mrs. Stuyvesant decided the issue for her. “I think maybe Sara might find a whole day on the water a shade too strenuous just yet,” she suggested. “A drive up to the forest would certainly be more relaxing. Why don’t we all meet for late dinner tomorrow night and then maybe go on to a club?” Nobody offered any objection to this, so Stephen said, “Then I’ll meet you in the foyer about noon, Sara.”
Presently, he persuaded Mrs. Stuyvesant to dance with him and Conrad and Angela followed them, leaving Sara and Peter again.
He had been staring into his glass for several minutes, and although he asked her to dance Sara had a feeling that he was no longer in a convivial mood.
“I think I’d rather sit out this time. I’m not tired, but I feel rather lazy now,” she said with a smile.
“You are too warm perhaps. Shall we take a stroll on the terrace for a few moments?”
The dining tables had been cleared away and groups of cane chairs and loungers set out, but there was no one else on the terrace when they reached it. After the scented and cigar-heavy atmosphere of the ballroom, the light breeze coming over the harbour was pleasantly fresh and revitalizing.
It was almost one o’clock now, but somewhere out on the wharves a negro was crooning a calypso, and the flickering glow of a brazier lit the deck of an anchored schooner. The water, silvered by moonlight, hushed gently against the hulls of the yachts and cruisers, and when Sara looked up, the sky was an infinity of stars.
“How beautiful it is,” she said softly. She looked across towards Hog Island and thought of the Paradise Beach where she had bathed with Stephen this morning—no, it was yesterday morning now!—and of how much she would like to be there again at this moment, swimming in the calm moonlit water and then building a driftwood fire and frying chipolatas for
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