The tall white yachts in a throng were lounging off the roads of Ryde.
It was near the regatta time, so these proud creatures had flown loftily
together, and now flitted hither and thither among themselves, like a
concourse of tall women, footing the waves with superb touch. To
Siegmund they were very beautiful, but removed from him, as dancers
crossing the window-lights are removed from the man who looks up from
the street. He saw the Solent and the world of glamour flying gay as
snow outside, where inside was only Siegmund, tired, dispirited,
without any joy.
He and Helena had climbed among coils of rope on to the prow of their
steamer, so they could catch a little spray of speed on their faces to
stimulate them. The sea was very bright and crowded. White sails leaned
slightly and filed along the roads; two yachts with sails of amber
floated, it seemed, without motion, amid the eclipsed blue of the day;
small boats with red and yellow flags fluttered quickly, trailing the
sea with colour; a pleasure steamer coming from Cowes swung her soft
stout way among the fleeting ships; high in the background were
men-of-war, a long line, each one threading tiny triangles of flags
through a sky dim with distance.
'It is all very glad,' said Siegmund to himself, 'but it seems to be
fanciful.' He was out of it. Already he felt detached from life. He belonged to his
destination. It is always so: we have no share in the beauty that lies
between us and our goal.
Helena watched with poignant sorrow all the agitation of colour on the
blue afternoon.
'We must leave it; we must pass out of it,' she lamented, over and over
again. Each new charm she caught eagerly.
'I like the steady purpose of that brown-sailed tramp,' she said to
herself, watching a laden coaster making for Portsmouth.
They were still among the small shipping of Ryde. Siegmund and Helena,
as they looked out, became aware of a small motor-launch heading across
their course towards a yacht whose tall masts were drawn clean on the
sky. The eager launch, its nose up as if to breathe, was racing over the
swell like a coursing dog. A lady, in white, and a lad with dark head
and white jersey were leaning in the bows; a gentleman was bending over
some machinery in the middle of the boat, while the sailor in the low
stern was also stooping forward attending to something. The steamer was
sweeping onwards, huge above the water; the dog of a boat was coursing
straight across her track. The lady saw the danger first. Stretching
forward, she seized the arm of the lad and held him firm, making no
sound, but watching the forward menace of the looming steamer.