“‘You saved the _Western Pacific_,’ I said, ‘and you have ruined yourself. Man, man!’ “I was terribly angry with him. Yet he stood in the midst of that tragedy like one who had succeeded, not failed. He dominated us all, a kind of heroic and pitiable figure. “So we got into the boats--the sea was going down rapidly, and the _Western Pacific_ sent over four boats to help out. Into the last boat we put Sheila, dry eyed, cold, almost, one might say, frozen in her expression. Harry handed her over the broken rail with a kind of gentle compassion. He did not say anything to her. It happened that it was one of the liner’s boats and the mate in charge stared up at Owen expectantly. The _Shearwater_ was almost awash. Still Harry made no movement to get into the boat. Instead, he thrust me in and I found myself seated with Sheila. “‘Hurry up, sir!’ cried the mate in our boat. “But Harry shook his head with a firm and determined movement. “‘Shove off!’ he ordered, and the men obeyed like children. But their officer bawled out, again and again, vainly. Harry Owen stared at us all, rising and falling on the spumy seas, and then turned away and went into his own cabin. As he closed the door the _Shearwater_ dipped her battered bows deeply. A surge overran her. She lurched to starboard, righted herself and slowly went down. She seemed to stop when the water was halfway up the deckhouse and floated a moment, half submerged. I think we all stared at Harry Owen’s door. “It did not open. “As I told you, Sheila did not utter a cry; but her fingers were set in my flesh so I had the impression of some one screaming. A moment later the _Shearwater_ vanished. “In that instant I was enormously puzzled. I had seen a riddle set and staged before my eyes and I had no answer to it. I do not remember the men pulling the lifeboat over to the _Western Pacific_--I recall nothing but the darkness of that tremendous and tragic problem and the incessant pressure of Sheila’s fingers into my arm. But when we reached the liner’s deck, I supporting Sheila, I saw a woman standing in a little recess of the deckhouse. It was Kitty Melrose. She was as lovely and witching as ever, her eyes shining, her lips parted gently. “How do women know? I cannot tell. But Sheila caught sight of her and thrust through the crowd to her and peered into her beautiful and shining eyes with a kind of terror. Kitty’s expression never changed; she stood there with pearls of spray in her hair and a look of childlike, glorious amazement on her face, which was turned toward the dreary spot where a few bits of wreckage showed above the grave of the _Shearwater_. And do you know what Sheila said?” Gorham laid his pipe aside and lowered his eyes. “She said, quite simply, ‘Nobody would ever tell me.’” He stopped and picked up his pipe again. “At that moment the skipper of the _Western Pacific_ came bustling along. “‘Where is Captain Owen?’ he bawled.