He suddenly turned, and said bluntly, in a low voice: “Belward, what a fool—what a fool! You had it all at your feet: the best—the very best.”
Gaston answered quietly:
“It’s an awkward time for talking. The rocks will have your yacht in half an hour.”
Gasgoyne turned towards it.
“Yes, she’ll get a raking fore and aft.” Then, he added, suddenly: “Of course you know how we feel about our rescue. It was plucky of you.”
“Pluckier in the girl,” was the reply. “Brave enough,” the honest rejoinder.
Gaston had an impulse to say, “Shall I thank her for you?” but he was conscious how little right he had to be ironical with Warren Gasgoyne, and he held his peace.
While the two were now turned away towards the Kismet, Andree came to Delia. She did not quite know how to comfort her, but she was a woman, and perhaps a supporting arm would do something.
“There, there,” she said, passing a hand round her shoulder, “you are all right now. Don’t cry!”
With a gasp of horror, Delia got to her feet, but swayed, and fell fainting—into Andree’s arms.