"Come, come, my dear lady," he exclaimed, and there was a tinge of
studied roughness in his voice, "you must calm yourself. It is the
fortune of shipwreck as well as of war, you know. We are alive and must
look after ourselves. Those who have gone are beyond our help."

"But not beyond our sympathy," wailed Iris, uncovering her swimming
eyes for a fleeting look at him. Even in the utter desolation of the
moment she could not help marveling that this queer-mannered sailor,
who spoke like a gentleman and tried to pose as her inferior, who had
rescued her with the utmost gallantry, who carried his Quixotic zeal to
the point of first supplying her needs when he was in far worse case
himself, should be so utterly indifferent to the fate of others.

He waited silently until her sobs ceased.

"Now, madam," he said, "it is essential that we should obtain some
food. I don't wish to leave you alone until we are better acquainted
with our whereabouts. Can you walk a little way towards the trees, or
shall I assist you?"

Iris immediately stood up. She pressed her hair back defiantly.

"Certainly I can walk," she answered. "What do you propose to do?"

"Well, madam--"

"What is your name?" she interrupted imperiously.

"Jenks, madam. Robert Jenks."