A blow fell upon my back, and I found Gerry standing over me.
“Give it me,” said he shortly, and I handed over the flask. He dashed across to Vi again and began to dose her energetically, not desisting till she coughed desperately and motioned him away with a weak gesture of her hand. The whiskey began to circulate among the others rapidly.
“What’s happened?” said Gwen’s low voice from my shoulder, and she opened her eyes again wearily. “Ah, I remember—the wave—and the rocks and—and all that.” Her voice died away indistinctly as her eyes closed.
“It’s all right,” I whispered into the little ear that shone so rosy pink against the dark sodden cloth of my smoking suit, “we’re all here. Nothing’s amiss with anybody.”
Her hand fluttered out to me, and caught and felt my arm as if to satisfy herself that one at least was there with whole body.
“Mother and Vi?” she questioned.
“Right as the mail,” quoth I cheerfully, “and Denvarre too,” I added circumspectly, though I don’t know why she should have been shy to ask for him.
“Ah, Lord Denvarre, and Mr. Garlicke, and the Professor, and Mr. Carver, and everybody?”
“Everybody,” I agreed, “though we haven’t exactly called names yet. Nothing but bruises, as far as I can tell.”
“I’m—I’m keeping you from doing things,” she said suddenly, scrambling to her feet, “and I ought to look after mother.” She tottered as she leaned against me, and I—well, of course I had to hold her up. Then I heard Denvarre’s deep voice at my elbow.