Away sped Geoffrey Arbuthnot on the instant, bestowing no consolatory word--Marjorie’s heart honoured him for the omission--on the ladies thus abandoned to their terrors and their fate. ‘And now,’ said old Cassandra Tighe, hollow and far-away her voice sounded through the blanket of fog, ‘I think we women folk will do well to betake ourselves elsewhere. Mr. Geoffrey Arbuthnot has set us an example of duty. You have been a pattern host,’ she added, addressing Lord Rex, ‘and it is right you should be set free. We must take our chance with the others in the cabin. You hear me, Marjorie Bartrand?’ Marjorie heard, but was stoutly recalcitrant. It was her duty, she said, to die hard, and according to Act of Parliament. She would in no wise give up her chance of the boats, should a collision befall the _Princess_; could swim like a sea-gull if the worst came to the worst. Lord Rex, of course, must be considered off duty. For herself, if Mrs. Arbuthnot would stay with her under one of the covered seats, she asked nothing better than to stop on deck and watch for sunrise. Cold? How would it be possible to take cold at midsummer--swathed, too, in all these wraps, and with the excitement of a first-class adventure to maintain the circulation of one’s blood. And indeed, there burned a flame in Marjorie’s breast that kept her whole being warm, a flame, pure and delicate, the like of which kindles in these poor hearts of ours once only, perhaps, between our cradle and our shroud. ‘We are dismissed, Miss Tighe,’ said Lord Rex, gallantly offering his unwounded arm, as Cassandra tottered to her feet. ‘Cling to me like grim death. Don’t mind appearances. If Mrs. Arbuthnot and Miss Bartrand have the courage to freeze, we must leave them to become icicles. I want to see what can be done for our poor terrified ladies down below.’ Lord Rex must have seen to the terrified ladies expeditiously. Five minutes later he was at his post again, no rug, no greatcoat about his shoulders,--with feminine appreciation of detail, Dinah was prompt to mark this sign of self-forgetfulness,--simply hovering near, ready, she reluctantly acknowledged, to buy her life with his own should the moment of peril really come.