One after the other the launches delivered up to the club secretary their biggest fish to be weighed-twenty, thirty, forty-pounders, and one after the other were moved to their usual berths alongside the jetty. The anglers hurried away to their cars parked ashore and drove round to the Bermagui Hotel. The day visitors sauntered to their cars, to gather wife and children preparatory to the home journey. Joe rolled homeward, leaving only Remmings of theGladious and Burns of theEdith to tidy their craft before dinner. Wilton called down to the two women who were sitting on the hatch combing of theLilyG. Excel.

“Bill’s a bit late getting in, Mrs Spinks,” he said to the elder of the women. “Mr Ericson may have decided to fight a shark on the way home. Whatd’you think of theMarlin? We finished up on her today, and we’re refloating her tonight.”

“She looks very nice in her new dress of paint, doesn’t she, mother?” replied the younger woman, stepping lightly from launch to jetty to stand beside Wilton. He flushed faintly, and his eyes became veiled when he glanced at Marion Spinks. Gallantly he assisted the mother to the jetty, and she said, brightly:

“Yes, she certainly does. The clean-up will add a knot to the speed, Jack. Hasn’t it been a wonderful day? It must have been as flat as my irons outside. There’s hardly any surf at all.”

Both these women were dressed with that severity and neatness which is the hall-mark of home dressmaking. Both were a fraction above average height, but further than a resemblance in mouth there were no traces of kinship. The elder woman was blonde, and hard work and the years had made her body angular. Marion was a brunette and strongly built. Her shapely figure had gladdened more than one artist, and Wilton thought her the most beautiful thing in his world of ever-changing beauty.