But quickly there came memories of Captain Ross, of Sir John and Lady Tozer, of the doctor, her maid, the hundred and one individualities of her pleasant life aboard ship.  Could it be that they were all dead?  The notion was monstrous.  But its ghastly significance was instantly borne in upon her by the plight in which she stood.  Her lips quivered; the tears trembled in her eyes.

“Is it really true that all the ship’s company except ourselves are lost?” she brokenly demanded.

The sailor’s gravely earnest glance fell before hers.  “Unhappily there is no room for doubt,” he said.

“Are you quite, quite sure?”

“I am sure—­of some.”  Involuntarily he turned seawards.

She understood him.  She sank to her knees, covered her face with her hands, and broke into a passion of weeping.  With a look of infinite pity he stooped and would have touched her shoulder, but he suddenly restrained the impulse.  Something had hardened this man.  It cost him an effort to be callous, but he succeeded.  His mouth tightened and his expression lost its tenderness.

“Come, come, my dear lady,” he exclaimed, and there was a tinge of studied roughness in his voice, “you must calm yourself.  It is the fortune of shipwreck as well as of war, you know.  We are alive and must look after ourselves.  Those who have gone are beyond our help.”

“But not beyond our sympathy,” wailed Iris, uncovering her swimming eyes for a fleeting look at him.  Even in the utter desolation of the moment she could not help marveling that this queer-mannered sailor, who spoke like a gentleman and tried to pose as her inferior, who had rescued her with the utmost gallantry, who carried his Quixotic zeal to the point of first supplying her needs when he was in far worse case himself, should be so utterly indifferent to the fate of others.

He waited silently until her sobs ceased.

“Now, madam,” he said, “it is essential that we should obtain some food.  I don’t wish to leave you alone until we are better acquainted with our whereabouts.  Can you walk a little way towards the trees, or shall I assist you?”

Iris immediately stood up.  She pressed her hair back defiantly.

“Certainly I can walk,” she answered.  “What do you propose to do?”

“Well, madam—­”

“What is your name?” she interrupted imperiously.

“Jenks, madam.  Robert Jenks.”

“Thank you.  Now, listen, Mr. Robert Jenks.  My name is Miss Iris Deane.  On board ship I was a passenger and you were a steward—­that is, until you became a seaman.  Here we are equals in misfortune, but in all else you are the leader—­I am quite useless.  I can only help in matters by your direction, so I do not wish to be addressed as ‘madam’ in every breath.  Do you understand me?”

Conscious that her large blue eyes were fixed indignantly upon him Mr. Robert Jenks repressed a smile.  She was still hysterical and must be humored in her vagaries.  What an odd moment for a discussion on etiquette!