“That is a devilish bad job, Mr. Anstruther,” he blurted out.

“Well, you know, I had to tell you.”

He smiled unaffectedly at the wondering circle.  He, too, was an officer, and appreciated their sentiments.  They were unfeignedly sorry for him, a man so brave and modest, such a splendid type of the soldier and gentleman, yet, by their common law, an outcast.  Nor could they wholly understand his demeanor.  There was a noble dignity in his candor, a conscious innocence that disdained to shield itself under a partial truth.  He spoke, not as a wrong-doer, but as one who addresses those who have been and will be once more his peers.

The first lieutenant again phrased the thoughts of his juniors—­

“I, and every other man in the ship, cannot help but sympathize with you.  But whatever may be your record—­if you were an escaped convict, Mr. Anstruther—­no one could withhold from you the praise deserved for your magnificent stand against overwhelming odds.  Our duty is plain.  We will bring you to Singapore, where the others will no doubt wish to go immediately.  I will tell the Captain what you have been good enough to acquaint us with.  Meanwhile we will give you every assistance, and—­er—­attention in our power.”

A murmur of approbation ran through the little circle.  Robert’s face paled somewhat.  What first-rate chaps they were, to be sure!

“I can only thank you,” he said unsteadily.  “Your kindness is more trying than adversity.”

A rustle of silk, the intrusion into the intent knot of men of a young lady in a Paris gown, a Paris hat, carrying a Trouville parasol, and most exquisitely gloved and booted, made every one gasp.

“Oh, Robert dear, how could you?  I actually didn’t know you!”

Thus Iris, bewitchingly attired, and gazing now with provoking admiration at Robert, who certainly offered almost as great a contrast to his former state as did the girl herself.  He returned her look with interest.

“Would any man believe,” he laughed, “that clothes would do so much for a woman?”

“What a left-handed compliment!  But come, dearest, Captain Fitzroy and Lord Ventnor have come ashore with father and me.  They want us to show them everything!  You will excuse him, won’t you?” she added, with a seraphic smile to the others.

They walked off together.

“Jimmy!” gasped the fat midshipman to a lanky youth.  “She’s got on your togs!”

Meaning that Iris had ransacked the Orient’s theatrical wardrobe, and pounced on the swell outfit of the principal female impersonator in the ship’s company.

Lieutenant Playdon bit the chin strap of his pith helmet, for the landing party wore the regulation uniform for service ashore in the tropics.  He muttered to his chief—­

“Damme if I’ve got the hang of this business yet.”

“Neither have I. Anstruther looks a decent sort of fellow, and the girl is a stunner.  Yet, d’ye know, Playdon, right through the cruise I’ve always understood that she was the fiancee of that cad, Ventnor.”