"Not the least necessity for that," said Meldon. "You can sleep for
another hour and a half at least. It can't be more than half-past six,
and allowing time for the most elaborate toilet you can possibly want
to make, you needn't get up till eight. I should say myself that you'd
sleep much more comfortably now you know that the day is going to be
fine. Nothing interferes with slumber more radically than any anxiety
of mind."
The weather was all that Meldon said it was; but his satisfaction with
it turned out to be ill-founded. It was based on a miscalculation.
What seemed to him a desirable sailing breeze was a cause of grave
discomfort to half the party.
Simpkins began to give way in less than an hour. He yawned, pulled
himself together, and then yawned again. After that he ceased to take
any active part in the conversation. Then Miss King began to lose
colour. Meldon, who was sitting forward with his legs dangling over
the combing of the cockpit, winked at Major Kent. The Major,
uncomfortably aware of the feelings of his guests, scowled at Meldon.
The nearest island on which it was possible to land was still some way
off.
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