violent exclamation received his adversary's point in his shoulder.

It all happened in a flash, so rapidly that it was over before either
Chris or Cinders had quite reached the scene. Bertrand whirled round
fiercely, sword in hand, anger turning to consternation in his eyes as he
realized the nature of the interruption.

Chris had a confused impression that the whole party were talking at once
and blaming her, while they buzzed round the wounded man, who lay back in
the arms of one of them and cursed volubly, whether Bertrand, Cinders,
or herself she never knew.

She had the presence of mind to snatch up her belligerent favourite, who
was snapping at the prostrate officer's legs; and then, for the first
time in her life, an overwhelming shyness descended upon her as the full
horror of her position presented itself.

"I couldn't help it, Bertie! Oh, Bertie, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, in
an agony of contrition.

There was a very odd expression on Bertrand's face. She did not
understand it in the least, but thought he must be furious since he was
undoubtedly frowning. If this were the case, however, he displayed
admirable self-restraint, for he banished the frown almost immediately.

"Mademoiselle has been bathing, yes?" he questioned briskly. "But it is a
splendid morning for a swim. And le bon Cinders also! How he is droll, ce
bon Cinders!"

He snapped his fingers airily under the droll one's nose, and flashed his
sudden smile into her face of distress.

"_Eh bien_!" he said. "_L'affaire est finie_. Let us go."

He stuck his weapon into the sand and left it there. Then, without
waiting to don his coat, he turned and walked away with her with his
light, elastic swagger that speedily widened the distance between himself
and his vanquished foe.

Chris walked beside him in silence, Cinders still tucked under her arm.
She knew not what to say, having no faintest clue to his real attitude
towards her at that moment. He had ignored her apology so jauntily that
she could not venture to renew it.

She glanced at him after a little to ascertain whether smile or frown had
supervened. But both were gone. He looked back at her gravely, though
without reproof.

"Poor little one!" he said. "It frightened you, no?"

She drew a deep breath. "Oh, Bertie, what were you doing?"

"I was fighting," he said.

"But why? You might--you might have killed him! Perhaps you have!"

He stiffened slightly, and twisted one end