Now, the elements on board of the Streak were sufficiently diverse to form a successful party, and by the time they were two days out on the long swell, with a gentle breeze just filling the trysails, and everything stowed, they had each fallen into the groove of sea life that was natural to him or to her.  There were Barker and the Duke in the pretty smoking-room forward with the windows open and a pack of cards between them.  Every now and then they stopped to chat a little, or the Duke would go out and look at the course, and make his rounds to see that every one was all right and nobody sea-sick.  But Barker rarely moved, save to turn his chair and cross one leg over the other, whereby he might the more easily contemplate his little patent leather shoes and stroke his bony hands over his silk-clad ankles; for Mr. Barker considered sea-dressing, as he called it, a piece of affectation, and arrayed himself on board ship precisely as he did on land.  The Duke, on the other hand, like most Englishmen when they get a chance, revelled in what he considered ease; that is to say, no two of his garments matched or appeared to have been made in the same century; he wore a flannel shirt, and was inclined to go about barefoot when the ladies were not on deck, and he adorned his ducal forehead with a red worsted cap, price one shilling.

Margaret, as was to be expected, was the deck member, with her curiously-wrought chair and her furs and her portable bookcase; while Miss Skeat, who looked tall and finny, and sported a labyrinthine tartan, was generally to be seen entangled in the weather-shrouds near by.  As for the Duke’s sister, Lady Victoria, she was plain, but healthy, and made regular circuits of the steamer, stopping every now and then to watch the green swirl of the foam by the side, and to take long draughts of salt air into her robust lungs.  But of all the party there was not one on whom the change from the dry land to the leaping water produced more palpable results than on Claudius.  He affected nothing nautical in dress or speech, but when the Duke saw him come on deck the first morning out, there was something about his appearance that made the yachtsman say to Barker—­

“That man has been to sea, I am positive.  I am glad I asked him.”

“All those Swedes are amphibious,” replied Barker; “they take to the water like ducks.  But I don’t believe he has smelled salt water for a dozen years.”

“They are the best sailors, at all events,” said the Duke.  “I have lots of them among the men.  Captain a Swede too.  Let me introduce you.”  They were standing on the bridge.  “Captain Sturleson, my friend Mr. Barker.”  And so in turn the captain was made known to every one on board; for he was an institution with the Duke, and had sailed his Grace’s yachts ever since there had been any to sail, which meant for about twenty years.  To tell the truth, if it were not for those beastly logarithms, the Duke was no mean sailing-master himself, and he knew a seaman when he saw one; hence his remark about Claudius.  The Doctor knew every inch of the yacht and every face in the ship’s company by the second day, and it amused the Countess to hear his occasional snatches of the clean-cut Northern tongue that sounded like English, but was yet so different.