She was in no amiable humour this afternoon.  All her nerves seemed strained to their utmost tension.  She was irritated, tremulous with nervous excitement, inclined to hate everybody, Horace Smithson most of all.  In her cabin a little later on, when she was changing her gown for dinner, and Kibble was somewhat slow and clumsy in the lacing of the bodice, she wrenched herself from the girl’s hands, flung herself into a chair, and burst into a flood of passionate tears.

’O God! that I were on one of those islands in the Caribbean Sea—­an island where Europeans never come—­where I might lie down among the poisonous tropical flowers, and sleep the rest of my days away.  I am sick to death of my life here; of the yacht, the people—­everything.’

‘This air is too relaxing, Lady Lesbia,’ the girl murmured, soothingly; ’and you didn’t have your natural rest last night.  Shall I get you a nice strong cup of tea?’

’Tea! no.  I have been living upon tea for the last twenty-four hours.  I have eaten nothing.  My mouth is parched and burning.  Oh, Kibble!’ flinging her head upon the girl’s buxom arm, and letting it rest there, ‘what a happy creature you are—­not a care—­not a care.’

‘I’m sure you can’t have any cares, Lady Lesbia,’ said Kibble, with an incredulous smile, trying to smooth the disordered hair, anxious to make haste with the unfinished toilet, for it was within a few minutes of eight.

’I am full of care.  I am in debt—­horribly in debt—­getting deeper and deeper every day—­and I am going to sell myself to the only man who can pay my debts and give me fine houses, and finery like this,’ plucking at the crepe de chine gown, with its flossy fringe, its delicate lace, a marvel of artistic expenditure; a garment which looked simplicity itself, and yet was so cleverly contrived as to cost five-and-thirty guineas.  The greatest effects in it required to be studied with a microscope.

’But surely, dear Lady Lesbia, you won’t marry Mr. Smithson, if you don’t love him?’

‘Do you suppose love has anything to do with marriages in society?’

‘Oh, Lady Lesbia, it would be so unkind to him, so cruel to yourself.’

’Cruel to myself.  Yes, I am cruel to myself.  I had the chance of happiness a year ago, and I lost it.  I have the chance of happiness now—­yes, of consummate bliss—­and haven’t the courage to snatch at it.  Take off this horrid gown, Kibble; my head is splitting:  I shan’t go to dinner.’

‘Oh, Lady Lesbia, you are treading on the pearl embroidery,’ remonstrated poor Kibble, as Lesbia kicked the new gown from under her feet.

‘What does it matter!’ she exclaimed with a bitter little laugh.  ’It has not been paid for—­perhaps it never will be.’

The dinner was silent and gloomy.  It was as if a star had been suddenly blotted out of the sky.  Smithson, ordinarily so hospitable, had been too much disturbed in mind to ask any of his friends to stay to dinner; so there were only Lady Kirkbank, who was too tired to be lively, and Montesma, who was inclined to be thoughtful.  Lesbia’s absence, and the idea that she was ill, gave the feast almost a funereal air.