“I only meant it as a joke—leaving you on the island, I mean. And then, when I got back and was going to send the launch to fetch you, the storm had got up and the men said the sea was too rough.”
“Why did you leave us?”
“As a joke! I told you.” It was awful to have to go on explaining that the idiotic thing she had done was a joke.
“For no other reason?”
“I was tired of so many men, that was all!”
“You couldn’t put up with one, I suppose, who is very humble and doesn’t ask much?”
“No—at the moment I want you all—tell me, how did you get off the island?”
“The Scotts picked us up. They were out fishing or had been before the storm got up. There was a little difficulty in sending out the boat for us, but they managed it—they got under the lee of the island. Your uncle is anxious about you—he is afraid you are wet—you are!” St. Jermyn put his hand on her arm.
She moved away. “Not really wet,” she said; “a little damp, but what does it matter how wet I am now you are all back.”
“We are not all back. Hastings is still on the island.”