In the middle of these reflections the door opened, and the Marquis himself came in. He was bright-eyed and a little dishevelled. “You’re awake, are you?” he said. “Up you get, then.”
“I don’t think I can,” said Miss Challoner candidly. “My head swims.”
“You must. We’re at Dieppe. What you want is food,” his lordship informed her callously.
Miss Challoner was impelled to sit up. “You can force your presence on me, I suppose,” she said bitterly, “but if you have any feeling at all you will not talk to me of food.”
“I haven’t,” said Vidal. “You don’t know it but you will be perfectly well when you have dined. Get up and come ashore.”
That last magic word brought Miss Challoner to her feet. His lordship offered his arm. “That’s better,” he encouraged her. “I’ve bespoken dinner and beds at the Coq d’Or.”
They came up on to the deck. Miss Challoner, having requested my lord to precede her, climbed up the companion as quickly as a swimming head would allow. Once on deck she observed that the sea was miraculously calm and blue, and blinked at it in surprise. Then she saw the long shadows on the quay, and asked what time it was.
“Close on six,” replied Vidal. “We met rough weather.”
Her brain refused to work. She kept on repeating to herself: “I’m in France. I can’t get home now. It’s of no avail to ask the time. I’m in France.”
The Marquis led her up the gangway and along the quayside until the Coq d’Or was reached. “Your gear has been taken up,” he said.