They did not shake hands. Gaston was looking at Delia, and he did not reply. Mr. Gasgoyne continued: “Nasty sea coming on--afraid to try Point du Raz. Of course we didn’t know you were here.” He looked at Andree curiously. He was struck by the girl’s beauty and force. But how different from Delia! He suddenly turned, and said bluntly, in a low voice: “Belward, what a fool--what a fool! You had it all at your feet: the best--the very best.” Gaston answered quietly: “It’s an awkward time for talking. The rocks will have your yacht in half an hour.” Gasgoyne turned towards it. “Yes, she’ll get a raking fore and aft.” Then, he added, suddenly: “Of course you know how we feel about our rescue. It was plucky of you.” “Pluckier in the girl,” was the reply. “Brave enough,” the honest rejoinder. Gaston had an impulse to say, “Shall I thank her for you?” but he was conscious how little right he had to be ironical with Warren Gasgoyne, and he held his peace. While the two were now turned away towards the Kismet, Andree came to Delia. She did not quite know how to comfort her, but she was a woman, and perhaps a supporting arm would do something. “There, there,” she said, passing a hand round her shoulder, “you are all right now. Don’t cry!” With a gasp of horror, Delia got to her feet, but swayed, and fell fainting--into Andree’s arms. She awoke near the landing-place, her father beside her. Meanwhile Andree had read the riddle. As Mr. Gasgoyne bathed Delia’s face, and Gaston her wrists, and gave her brandy, she sat still and intent, watching. Tears and fainting! Would she--Andree-have given way like that in the same circumstances? No. But this girl--Delia--was of a different order: was that it? All nerves and sentiment! At one of those lunches in the grand world she had seen a lady burst into tears suddenly at some one’s reference to Senegal. She herself had only cried four times, that she remembered; when her mother died; when her father was called a thief; when, one day, she suffered the first great shame of her life in the mountains of Auvergne; and the night when she waked a second time to her love for Gaston. She dared to call it love, though good Annette had called it a mortal sin. What was to be done? The other woman must suffer. The man was hers--hers for ever. He had said it: for ever. Yet her heart had a wild hunger for that something which this girl had and she had not. But the man was hers; she had won him away from this other. Delia came upon the quay bravely, passing through the crowd of staring fishermen, who presently gave Gaston a guttural cheer. Three of them, indeed, had been drinking his health. They embraced him and kissed him, begging him to come with them for absinthe. He arranged the matter with a couple of francs.