She said to herself that she would slip on her mackintosh and go.  But an overwhelming desire to investigate a little further kept her dallying.  She had an ardent longing to see the faces of the antagonists.  Later she marvelled at her own temerity, but at the time this overmastering desire was the only thing she knew.

She came out of the sea, reached her faithful attendant Cinders, slipped on the mackintosh, and advanced nearer still to the little group of officers upon the beach, buttoning it mechanically as she went.

Ah, she could see them now!  One faced her—­a mean-visaged man, fierce, ferret-like, with glaring eyes and evil mouth.  She hated him at sight, instinctively, without question.

He was thrusting savagely at his opponent, whose back was towards her—­a slim, straight back familiar to her, so familiar that she recognized him beyond all doubting, no longer needing to see his face.  And yet, involuntarily it seemed, she drew nearer.

He was fencing without impetuosity, yet with a precision that even to her untrained perception expressed a most deadly concentration.  Lithe and active, supremely confident, he parried his enemy’s attack, and the grace of the man, combined with a certain mastery that was also in a fashion familiar to her, attracted her irresistibly, held her spellbound.  There was nothing brutal about him, no hint of ferocity, only a finished antagonism as flawless as his chivalry, a strength of self-suppression that made him superb.

No one noticed Chris’s proximity.  All were too deeply engrossed with the matter in hand.  But suddenly Cinders, who loved law and order in all things pertaining to the human race, scented combat in the air.  It was enough.  Cinders would permit no brawling among his betters if he could by any means prevent it.  With tail cocked and every hair bristling, he rushed into the fray, barking aggressively.

With a cry of dismay Chris rushed after him, and in that instant the man facing her raised his eyes involuntarily and shifted his position.  The next instant he lunged frantically to recover himself, failed, and with a 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.