"How can you be so silly?" she blazed forth.
"Why did you libel Jack so readily?" tittered Enid.
The other, utterly routed, went on in dignified silence. She did not speak again until they surveyed the store apportioned for the coming feast.
"Eighty-one!" she murmured. "What a monstrous deal of people for a half-penny worth of bread!"
"What is the use of repining?" sang Enid, with a fortissimo accent on the penultimate syllable. "For where there's a will there's a way. Tomorrow the sun will be shining, although it is cloudy today."
But Constance was not to be drawn a second time. Her clear brain was troubled by a formless shadow. It banished from her mind all thought of a harmless flirtation with the good-looking youngster who had brought a blush of momentary embarrassment to her fair face.
How dreadful it would be to meet hunger with refusals—perhaps there were worse things in the world than the midnight ordeal of an angry sea.
Indeed, when Pyne did join them in accord with his intention, he soon perceived the extent of the new danger. The stress of the night had only enhanced the need of an ample supply of food. Everybody—even the inmates of the hospital—was outrageously hungry, and the common allotment was half a cup of tea and half a ship's biscuit.
For the midday meal there would be two ounces of meat or bacon, one potato, and another half biscuit with about a wine-glassful of water. For supper the allowance was half a cup of cocoa and two ounces of bread, which must be baked during the day. Not quite starvation, this menu, but far from satisfying to strong men and worn-out women.
The Falcon, knowing the uselessness of attempting to creep nearer to the Gulf Rock, had gone off with her budget to startle two continents. Stanhope's last message was one of assurance. He would do all that lay in man's power. The lighthouse soon quieted down to a state of passive reaction. Pyne, refusing to be served earlier, carried his own and Brand's scanty meal on a tray to the service-room.