‘You are looking wretchedly ill to-night, Lesbia,’ he said, after a dismal silence.

‘I am sorry that I should put you to shame by my bad looks,’ she answered, with that keen acidity of tone which indicates irritated nerves.

’You know that I don’t mean anything of the kind; you are always lovely, always the loveliest everywhere; but I don’t like to see you so ghastly pale.’

’I suppose I am over-fatigued:  that I have done too much in London and here.  Life in Westmoreland was very different,’ she added, with a sigh, and a touch of wonder that the Lesbia Haselden, whose methodical life had never been stirred by a ruffle of passion, could have been the same flesh and blood—­yes, verily, the same woman, whose heart throbbed so vehemently to-night, whose brain seemed on fire.

‘Are you sure there is nothing the matter?’ he asked, with a faint quiver in his voice.

‘What should there be the matter?’

’Who can say?  God knows that I know no cause for evil.  I am honest enough, and faithful enough, Lesbia.  But your face to-night is like a presage of calamity, like the dull, livid sky that goes before a thunderstorm.’

‘I hope there is no thunderbolt coming,’ she answered, lightly.  ’What very tall talk about a headache, for really that is all that ails me.  Hark, they have begun “My Queen.”  I am engaged for this waltz.’

‘I am sorry for that.’

‘So am I. I would ever so much rather have stayed out here.’

Two hours later, in the steely morning light, when sea and land and sky had a metallic look as if lit by electricity, Lady Lesbia stood with her chaperon and her affianced husband on the landing stage belonging to the club, ready to step into the boat in which six swarthy seamen in red shirts and caps were to row them back to the yacht.  Mr. Smithson drew the warm sortie de bal, with its gold-coloured satin lining and white fox border, closer round Lesbia’s slender form.

‘You are shivering,’ he said; ’you ought to have warmer wraps.

‘This is warm enough for St. Petersburg.  I am only tired—­very tired.’

‘The Cayman will rock you to sleep.’

Don Gomez was standing close by, waiting for his host.  The two men were to walk up the hill to Formosa, a village with a classic portico, delightfully situated above the town.

’What time are we to come to breakfast? asked Mr. Smithson.

’Not too early, in mercy’s name.  Two o’clock in the afternoon, three, four;—­why not make it five—­combine breakfast with afternoon tea,’ exclaimed Lady Kirkbank, with a tremendous yawn.  ’I never was so thoroughly fagged; I feel as if I had been beaten with sticks, basti—­what’s its name.’

She was leaning all her weight upon Mr. Smithson, as he handed her down the steps and into the boat.  Her normal weight was not a trifle, and this morning she was heavy with champagne and sleep.  Carefully as Smithson supported her she gave a lurch at the bottom of the steps, and plunged ponderously into the boat, which dipped and careened under her, whereat she shrieked, and implored Mr. Smithson to save her.