Mrs. Newberry paused at the sound of their whispered voices. “Is there,” she asked, turning toward them anxiously, “anything I should know? Anything you’re keeping from me?”
Della Street smiled reassuringly and said, “No.”
Mason held the cabin door open and was about to go in the room after them, when he heard running steps, and Belle Newberry, holding the skirt of her evening dress up over her arm, came running into the corridor, staggered, swayed, was flung against the wall as the ship rolled, pushed herself upright, and came running once more.
“Oh, Mr. Mason!” she called. “Is Mother in there?”
Mason nodded, held the door open for her, and, when she had entered, closed it. “Oh, Moms,” Belle said, “someone’s overboard! I was so frightened. I thought perhaps... Where’s Pops, Mumsy?... I’m sopping wet, I ran out looking for him and couldn’t find him!”
“Oh, he’ll be along in a minute,” Mrs. Newberry said.
“Where is he now?”
“He went up to see someone — at the bar probably”
“But, Mumsy, someone’s overboard. He went upstairs, and I’ve dashed madly all over the ship, out on deck, and...”
Mrs. Newberry said, “Now, don’t be a foolish little girl, Belle. You know your father wouldn’t go out on deck in this weather, and, if he did, he’d be far too careful to fall overboard. It’s probably someone from the second class or the steerage, someone who’d been drinking too much.”