It was the Swallow from London.

She could see some of its passengers leaning curiously over the aft-rail.

A girl in a mackintosh signalled to her, and mechanically she answered the salute with her arm.

The officer of the bridge of the Swallow hailed the yacht, but the man at the wheel offered no reply.

In another minute the Swallow was nothing but a blot in the distance.
Nella tried to sit straight in the deck-chair, but she found herself unable to do so.