Following a delay of some days, there had been a fairly heavy mail, and Peter took his letters to the little terrace by the sea outside the mess, and sat in the sun to read them.

While he was so occupied Arnold appeared with a pipe, but, seeing him engaged, went back for a novel and a deck-chair.

It was all very peaceful and still, and beyond occasional hammering from, the leisurely construction of the outer harbour wall and once or twice the siren of a signalling steamer entering the docks, there was nothing to disturb them at all.

Perhaps half an hour passed, then Peter folded up some sheets, put them in his pocket, and walked moodily to the edge of the concrete, staring down, at the lazy slushing of the tide against: the wall below him.
He kicked a pebble discontentedly into the water, and turned to look, at Arnold.

The older man was stretched out: in his chair smoking a pipe and regarding him.