Minute after minute passed with no sound, no movement except as he passed his hand over her forehead and hair. He knew what to do when those who were adrift floated into Port Mallett. And sometimes he did more than was strictly required, but never less. Toward sundown she began to feel blindly for her handkerchief. He happened to possess a fresh one and put it into her groping hand.
When she was ready to rise she did so, keeping her back toward him and standing for a while busy with her swollen eyes and disordered hair.
"Before we go we must have tea together again," he said with perfectly matter-of-fact cordiality.
"Y-yes." The voice was very, very small.
"And in town, too, Sylvia. I had no idea what a companionable girl you are—how much we have in common. You know silence is the great test of mutual confidence and understanding. You'll let me see you in town, won't you?"
"Yes."
"That will be jolly. I suppose now that you and I ought to be thinking about dressing for dinner."
She assented, moved away a step or two, halted, and, still with her back turned, held out her hand behind her. He took it, bent and kissed it.
"See you at dinner," he said cheerfully.
And she went out very quietly, his handkerchief pressed against her eyes.