Instantly Tatiana was at his side, her hand lightly touching his.
“I feel awfully foolish,” he explained, “as foolish as a man well can feel—and, to be truthful, I don’t know where to begin, but I’d like to know what—what has happened to—to me, for instance?”
His fine eyes were searching hers imploringly, and, drawing a chair toward her with her foot, she sat down close to him without releasing her hold upon his cold fingers.
“You were a passenger on the Wild Rose,” she began. “You remember that?”
“Yes.”
“The yacht was caught in a storm and foundered a few cable-lengths from our rocks.”
“Yes, I remember that, too; and then....”
“Oh! then,” Tatiana resumed, “our life-savers did their duty, as they always do, and brought you ashore.”
“But,” Preston rebegan, fine beads of perspiration starting on his forehead, “I—I was not alone.”
“Of course not. There were the captain, the officers, the crew, and my sister-in-law, your hostess.”