So lying, he heard the stir and tramp of feet above him, the voices of
men, the lifting of the gangway; and presently the yacht began to throb
as though suddenly endowed with life. He felt the heave of the sea as she
left her moorings, and the rush of water pouring past her keel as she
drew away from the quay.
He stretched himself with lazy enjoyment. It was good to come and go as
he listed, good to have no ties to bind him. He supposed he would always
be a wanderer on the face of the earth, and after all wandering suited
him best. True, there were occasions on which the thought of home allured
him. The idea of marriage with some woman who loved him would spring like
a beacon out of the night in moments of depression. Other men found a
permanent abiding-place and were content therewith; why not he? But he
only played with the notion. It did not seriously attract him. He was not
a marrying man, and, as he had said to Larpent, the woman did not exist
who could hold him. The bare thought of Sheila Melrose sent a mocking
smile to his lips. Did she think--did she really think--that she
possessed the necessary qualifications to capture a man of his
experience? He dismissed her with a snap of the fingers.
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