anger began to dominate them. The sense of danger came to her out
of the demeanour of her companions and out of the swift appearance on deck
of every member of the crew, including the parlourmaid, and including three
men who were incompletely clothed. The yacht was no longer a floating
hotel, automobile and dancing-saloon; it was a stranded wreck. Not a
passenger on board knew whether the tide was making or ebbing, but,
secretly, all were convinced that it was ebbing and that they would be left
on the treacherous sand and ultimately swallowed up therein, even if a
storm did not supervene and smash the craft to bits in the classical
manner. The skipper's words about the bones of many a good yacht had
escaped no ear.

Further, not a passenger knew where the yacht was or whither, exactly, she
was bound or whether the glass was rising or falling, for guests on yachts
seldom concern themselves about details. Of course, signals might be made
to passing ships, but signals were often, according to maritime history,
unheeded, and the ocean was very large and empty, though it was only the
German Ocean.... Musa was nervous and angry. Audrey knew from her intimate
knowledge of him that he was angry and she wondered why he should be angry.
Madame Piriac, on the other hand, was entirely calm. Her calmness seemed to
say to those responsible, and even to the not-responsible passenger: "You
got me into this and it is inconceivable that you should not get me out of
it. I have always been looked after and protected, and I must be looked
after and protected now. I absolutely decline to be worried." But Miss
Thompkins was worried, she was very seriously alarmed; fear was in her
face.

"I do think it's a shame!" she broke out almost loudly, in a trembling
voice, to Audrey. "I do think it's a shame you should go flirting with poor
Mr. Gilman when he's steering." And she meant all she said.

"Me flirting!" Audrey exclaimed, passionately resentful.

Withal, the sense of danger continued to increase. Still there were the
boats. There were the motor-launch, the cutter and the dinghy. The sea
was--for the present--calm and the moon encouraging.

"Lower the dinghy there and look lively now!" cried the captain.

This command more than ever frightened all the passengers who, in their
nervousness and alarm, had tried to pretend to themselves that nervousness
and alarm were absurd, and that first-class yachts never did, and could
not, get wrecked.