He turned and looked at her straitly. He was the second-cabin passenger with the red hair.
“A tramp steamer has run into us in the fog,” he answered.
“How much harm is done?”
“They are trying to find out. I am standing here on the chance of hearing something. It is madness to ask any man questions.”
They spoke to each other in short, sharp sentences, knowing there was no time to lose.
“Are you horribly frightened?” he asked.
She stamped her foot.
“I hate it—I hate it!” she said, flinging out her hand towards the black, heaving water. “The plunge—the choking! No one could hate it more. But I want to DO something!”
She was turning away when he caught her hand and held her.
“Wait a second,” he said. “I hate it as much as you do, but I believe we two can keep our heads. Those who can do that may help, perhaps. Let us try to quiet the people. As soon as I find out anything I will come to your friends' stateroom. You are near the boats there. Then I shall go back to the second cabin. You work on your side and I'll work on mine. That's all.”