‘My dear Mrs. Verschoyle, I am penitent! Only my wife, you see, might have reasoned. It would have deprived you all, no doubt, of a harmless excitement; but Linda, I think, might have reasoned. Any way, it is better to be drowned by one’s friends’ imaginations than run the risk, in earnest, of a pair of damp shoes.’ To this Mrs. Verschoyle gave a qualified assent. The mention of damp shoes affected her. Still, she was not a little shocked at Doctor Thorne’s levity--‘At his advanced age,’ thought poor Mrs. Verschoyle, perturbedly, ‘and after the awful narrowness of his escape!’ ‘The fear is, Doctor, that Mrs. Thorne will be left behind,’ cried Ada de Carteret, with meaning. ‘At the first word of danger Linda started off along the Langrune road to look for you.’ ‘Linda ought to have reasoned----’ ‘And Lord Rex declares the captain must weigh anchor at nine, sharp! It is like a scene in a novel--the last scene but one, with everything in a delicious tangle still. Why, Doctor, you are the hero of the day!’ ‘I feel enormously flattered,’ said the old Doctor. ‘It is a very long time since a charming young lady has said anything so pretty to me.’ ‘But your wife, Doctor Thorne!’ expostulated Cassandra Tighe, who with her nets and cases had been the last to leave the boat. ‘Do you realise that if Ozanne saves his tide--if we return to Guernsey to-night--Mrs. Thorne will remain in France?’ ‘I cannot believe it. Ozanne would not surely be so ungallant. (Allow me, Miss Tighe, to help you with a few of your packages.) No, no. The skipper would not be so ungallant. And then my dear Linda is the most famous traveller! Surely I have told you what wonderful presence of mind she showed once in the Nilgiri Hills? Lost, actually lost, for four entire days! If, by mischance, Linda should be left alone, she will make her way home to-morrow, _viâ_ Cherbourg, and enjoy the adventure.’ ‘And Mrs. Thorne is not alone,’ cried Ada de Carteret, clapping her hands, and no doubt feeling that the position grew more and more deliciously tangled. ‘Mr. Arbuthnot is with her--not Marjorie Bartrand’s coach, but the other one: the singing, flirting, good-looking Mr. Arbuthnot,’ added this vivacious young lady, profoundly forgetful that the good-looking Mr. Arbuthnot’s wife stood within three yards of her elbow. ‘Then my fears are set at rest,’ observed the Doctor genially. ‘If my friend Arbuthnot is there my fears are set thoroughly at rest. Meanwhile, I may as well speak to the skipper. The tide, of course, must be saved. Still, it would be only right to let Ozanne know how affairs stand.’