That the remote Miss Vanderpoel should have emerged from her luxurious corner to frankly bully the lot of them was an excellent shock for the crowd.  Men, who had been in danger of losing their heads and becoming as uncontrolled as the women, suddenly realised the fact and pulled themselves together.  Bettina made her way at once to the Worthingtons’ staterooms.

There she found frenzy reigning.  Blanche and Marie Worthington were darting to and fro, dragging about first one thing and then another.  They were silly with fright, and dashed at, and dropped alternately, life belts, shoes, jewel cases, and wraps, while they sobbed and cried out hysterically.  “Oh, what shall we do with mother!  What shall we do!”

The manners of Betty Vanderpoel’s sharp schoolgirl days returned to her in full force.  She seized Blanche by the shoulder and shook her.

“What a donkey you are!” she said.  “Put on your clothes.  There they are,” pushing her to the place where they hung.  “Marie—­dress yourself this moment.  We may be in no real danger at all.”

“Do you think not!  Oh, Betty!” they wailed in concert.  “Oh, what shall we do with mother!”

“Where is your mother?”

“She fainted—­Louise——­”

Betty was in Mrs. Worthington’s cabin before they had finished speaking.  The poor woman had fainted, and struck her cheek against a chair.  She lay on the floor in her nightgown, with blood trickling from a cut on her face.  Her maid, Louise, was wringing her hands, and doing nothing whatever.

“If you don’t bring the brandy this minute,” said the beautiful Miss Vanderpoel, “I’ll box your ears.  Believe me, my girl.”  She looked so capable of doing it that the woman was startled and actually offended into a return of her senses.  Miss Vanderpoel had usually the best possible manners in dealing with her inferiors.

Betty poured brandy down Mrs. Worthington’s throat and applied strong smelling salts until she gasped back to consciousness.  She had just burst into frightened sobs, when Betty heard confusion and exclamations in the adjoining room.  Blanche and Marie had cried out, and a man’s voice was speaking.  Betty went to them.  They were in various stages of undress, and the red-haired second-cabin passenger was standing at the door.

“I promised Miss Vanderpoel——­” he was saying, when Betty came forward.  He turned to her promptly.

“I come to tell you that it seems absolutely to be relied on that there is no immediate danger.  The tramp is more injured than we are.”

“Oh, are you sure?  Are you sure?” panted Blanche, catching at his sleeve.

“Yes,” he answered.  “Can I do anything for you?” he said to Bettina, who was on the point of speaking.

“Will you be good enough to help me to assist Mrs. Worthington into her berth, and then try to find the doctor.”

He went into the next room without speaking.  To Mrs. Worthington he spoke briefly a few words of reassurance.  He was a powerful man, and laid her on her berth without dragging her about uncomfortably, or making her feel that her weight was greater than even in her most desponding moments she had suspected.  Even her helplessly hysteric mood was illuminated by a ray of grateful appreciation.