We journeyed together by the steamer ‘Columba’ to Rothesay, where, on entering the beautiful bay, crowded at this season with pleasure craft, the first object which attracted our attention was the very vessel for which I was bound, the ‘Diana,’ one of the most magnificent yachts ever built to gratify the whim of a millionaire.  Tourists on board our steamer at once took up positions where they could obtain the best view of her, and many were the comments we heard concerning her size and the beauty of her lines as she rode at anchor on the sunlit water.

“You’ll be in a floating palace,”—­said Francesca, as we approached Rothesay pier, and she bade me an affectionate adieu—­“Now take care of yourself, and don’t fly away to the moon on what you call an etheric vibration!  Remember, if you get tired of the Harlands to come to me at once.”

I promised, and we parted.  On landing at Rothesay I was almost immediately approached by a sailor from the ‘Diana,’ who, spying my name on my luggage, quickly possessed himself of it and told me the motor launch was in waiting to take me over to the yacht.  I was on my way across the sparkling bay before the ‘Columba’ started out again from the pier, and Francesca, standing on the steamer’s deck, waved to me a smiling farewell as I went.  In about ten minutes I was on board the ‘Diana,’ shaking hands with Morton Harland and his daughter Catherine, who, wrapped up in shawls on a deck chair, looked as though she were guarding herself from the chills of a rigorous winter rather than basking in the warm sunshine of a summer morning.

“You look very well!”—­she said, in tones of plaintive amiability—­ “And so wonderfully bright!”

“It’s such a bright day,”—­I answered, feeling as if I ought somehow to apologise for a healthy appearance, “One can’t help being happy!”

She sighed and smiled faintly, and her maid appearing at that moment to take my travelling bag and wraps, I was shown the cabin, or rather the state-room which was to be mine during the cruise.  It was a luxurious double apartment, bedroom and sitting-room together, divided only by the hanging folds of a rich crimson silk curtain, and exquisitely fitted with white enamelled furniture ornamented with hand-wrought silver.  The bed had no resemblance whatever to a ship’s berth, but was an elaborate full-sized affair, canopied in white silk embroidered with roses; the carpet was of a thick softness into which my feet sank as though it were moss, and a tall silver and crystal vase, full of gorgeous roses, was placed at the foot of a standing mirror framed in silver, so that the blossoms were reflected double.  The sitting-room was provided with easy chairs, a writing-table, and a small piano, and here, too, masses of roses showed their fair faces from every corner.  It was all so charming that I could not help uttering an exclamation of delight, and the maid who was unpacking my things smiled sympathetically.