Siegmund had shaved and dressed, and come down to breakfast. Mrs Curtiss
brought in the coffee. She was a fragile little woman, of delicate,
gentle manner.

'The water would be warm this morning,' she said, addressing no one in
particular.

Siegmund stood on the hearth-rug with his hands behind him, swaying from
one leg to the other. He was embarrassed always by the presence of the
amiable little woman; he could not feel at ease before strangers, in his
capacity of accepted swain of Helena.

'It was,' assented Helena. 'It was as warm as new milk.' 'Ay, it would be,' said the old lady, looking in admiration upon the
experience of Siegmund and his beloved. 'And did ye see the ships of
war?' she asked.

'No, they had gone,' replied Helena.

Siegmund swayed from foot to foot, rhythmically.

'You'll be coming in to dinner today?' asked the old lady.

Helena arranged the matter.

'I think ye both look better,' Mrs. Curtiss said. She glanced at
Siegmund.

He smiled constrainedly.

'I thought ye looked so worn when you came,' she said sympathetically.

'He had been working hard,' said Helena, also glancing at him.

He bent his head, and was whistling without making any sound.

'Ay,' sympathized the little woman. 'And it's a very short time for you.
What a pity ye can't stop for the fireworks at Cowes on Monday. They are
grand, so they say.' Helena raised her eyebrows in polite interest. 'Have you never seen
them?' she asked.