“My child,” said the cardinal, “you say that you will not marry his lordship unless he brings you the cup.  Do you hope that he will bring it?”

She looked at him a moment, the red and white roses warring in her cheeks.  “Yes,” she said, “I hope it, for I love him,” and she put her hands to her face and ran below.

“If the earl is the man I take him to be,” said the cardinal to himself, “I fear that I am about to shut my eyes to a felony,” and he pressed the electric button at his side.  The head steward appeared so quickly that he overheard the cardinal say—­“I certainly should have done it, at his age.”

V

At six bells there was a tap on the cardinal’s door.

“Come in,” he said.

The head steward entered.  He had exchanged the white duck of the afternoon for the black of evening.  He was now the major-domo.  He wore silk stockings and about his neck was a silver chain, and at the end of the chain hung a key.

“Your eminence’s servant has come on board,” he said.

“Pietro?” asked the cardinal.

“I do not know his name,” said the steward, “but he is most anxious to see your eminence.”

“Let him come in at once,” said the cardinal.  The steward backed out, bowing.

There was a loud knock upon the door.  “Enter,” said the cardinal.  Pietro came in.  He carried a portmanteau.

“What is it?” exclaimed the cardinal.  “Is any one dying?  Am I needed?”

“No, your eminence,” said Pietro, “the public health is unusually good.  I have come to dress you for dinner with the English.”

“They are not English,” said the cardinal; “they are Irish.”

“In that event,” said Pietro, “you will do as you are.”

“No,” laughed the cardinal, “since you have brought my finery I will put it on.”

Pietro opened the portmanteau with a sigh.  “I thought they were English,” he said.  “The Irish are as poor as the Italians.  If I dress your eminence as I had intended they will not appreciate it.”

“Do not fear,” said the cardinal.  “Do your best.”

At seven bells there was another knock at the cardinal’s door.  Pietro opened it.

“Shall dinner be served, your eminence?” asked the head steward.

“Whenever the ladies are ready,” replied the cardinal.

“They are already on deck, your eminence.”

“At once, then,” said the cardinal, and he went up the companion-way, leaning on Pietro’s arm.  The after-deck was lighted by scores of incandescent lamps, each shaded by a scarlet silken flower.  The table stood, white and cool, glittering with silver and crystal.  In its centre was a golden vase, and in the vase were four scarlet roses.  The deck was covered with a scarlet carpet, a strip of which ran forward to the galley-hatch, so that the service might be noiseless.

Lady Nora was dressed in white and wore no jewels.  Miss O’Kelly was partially clad in a brocaded gown, cut as low as even the indiscretion of age permits.  A necklace of huge yellow topazes emphasized the space they failed to cover.