"Thank you. Now, listen, Mr. Robert Jenks. My name is Miss Iris Deane.
On board ship I was a passenger and you were a steward--that is, until
you became a seaman. Here we are equals in misfortune, but in all else
you are the leader--I am quite useless. I can only help in matters by
your direction, so I do not wish to be addressed as 'madam' in every
breath. Do you understand me?"

Conscious that her large blue eyes were fixed indignantly upon him Mr.
Robert Jenks repressed a smile. She was still hysterical and must be
humored in her vagaries. What an odd moment for a discussion on
etiquette!

"As you wish, Miss Deane," he said. "The fact remains that I have many
things to attend to, and we really must eat something."

"What can we eat?"

"Let us find out," he replied, scanning the nearest trees with keen
scrutiny.

They plodded together through the sand in silence. Physically, they
were a superb couple, but in raiment they resembled scarecrows. Both,
of course, were bare-headed. The sailor's jersey and trousers were old
and torn, and the sea-water still soughed loudly in his heavy boots
with each step.

But Iris was in a deplorable plight. Her hair fell in a great wave of
golden brown strands over her neck and shoulders. Every hairpin had
vanished, but with a few dexterous twists she coiled the flying tresses