observes her.

"That's about as near as I can get to it," Durrant wound up.

The next minute is quiet as the grave.

"It follows..." said Jacob.

Only half a sentence followed; but these half-sentences are like flags
set on tops of buildings to the observer of external sights down below.
What was the coast of Cornwall, with its violet scents, and mourning
emblems, and tranquil piety, but a screen happening to hang straight
behind as his mind marched up?

"It follows..." said Jacob.

"Yes," said Timmy, after reflection. "That is so."

Now Jacob began plunging about, half to stretch himself, half in a kind
of jollity, no doubt, for the strangest sound issued from his lips as he
furled the sail, rubbed the plates--gruff, tuneless--a sort of pasan,
for having grasped the argument, for being master of the situation,
sunburnt, unshaven, capable into the bargain of sailing round the world
in a ten-ton yacht, which, very likely, he would do one of these days
instead of settling down in a lawyer's office, and wearing spats.

"Our friend Masham," said Timmy Durrant, "would rather not be seen in
our company as we are now." His buttons had come off.

"D'you know Masham's aunt?" said Jacob.