"It's no witness-box you're in, Britton," he growled. "It's a bally old tub, and you needn't think because you're dressed in beautiful, silk pyjamas that you must stay there till you have to swim. If I were the lady, I would vigorously object to getting wet."
Ainsworth emphasized his tirade with a swift revolution of the engine-crank. The curate cast off the rope, and they puffed away from the water-logged vessel. Gleaming white against the inky color of her side was the nameplate-_Constantine_.
Britton pulled an overcoat and a pair of sea-boots from a locker and put them on.
"That's better," grunted the lawyer. "You don't look so much like a posing matinee idol in crimson jersey and biceps!"
Britton apparently did not hear him, being intent upon the dénouement of this harbor tragedy. Under the _Mottisfont's_ powerful search-light everything stood out nakedly clear for rods around. The stricken vessel rolled in a last, pitiful struggle, listed too far for the recovery of her equilibrium, turned turtle and sank like a stone.
"There's the end of incompetence," rasped Ainsworth, while the lady beside Britton gave a sympathetic cry, and the fleet of boats flying from the vortex peril with their human cargoes echoed in choruses of dismay.
"Had you friends?" Britton asked of the woman.
"No,-only my maid and baggage," she answered. "My name is Morris, Maud Morris-and I was travelling alone."
"Then the inconvenience is not considerable," Britton said. "We will go on board the yacht, and I can find your maid in the morning."
"Ah! you are too generous," murmured the lady. "You have already done more than a woman can repay, and I have not even attended to your wound. Does it pain much?"
"Very little," replied Britton, lightly. "I believe I shall hold you to your promise to bandage it, and I believe it will get well very soon."
She laughed a low, sweet laugh which harmonized with her pale beauty, and Britton felt some unexplained fascination as her green-blue eyes held his.
The launch bumped the _Mottisfont's_ side abaft of the great hole which the _Constantine's_ prow had torn. The occupants surveyed the black, yawning break somewhat ruefully before they stepped on deck.
"What the deuce will the Honorable Oliver Britton say when he finds his nephew has smashed up his floating palace?" asked Ainsworth, meditatively.