During all this while Wingate has not spoken a word, though he also has
observed the same figure in the pavilion. With face that way he could
not avoid noticing it, and easily guesses who she is. Had he any doubt
the behaviour of the other would remove it.
"Miss Wynn, for sartin," he thinks to himself, but says nothing.
Again turning his eyes upon his patron, he notes the distraught air,
with head drooping, and feels the effect in having to contend against
the rudder ill directed. But he forbears making remark. At such a
moment his interference might not be tolerated--perhaps resented. And
so the silence continues.
Not much longer. A thought strikes the waterman, and he ventures a word
about the weather. It is done for a kindly feeling--for he sees how the
other suffers--but in part because he has a reason for it. The
observation is--
"We're goin' to have the biggest kind o' a rainpour Captain."
The Captain makes no immediate response. Still in the morose mood,
communing with his own thoughts, the words fall upon his ear
unmeaningly, as if from a distant echo.