heir smartness and well-groomed air, and their spotless
clothes, after Emile and his dirty nails and slovenly habits, and she
appreciated to the full the surrounding refinement and comfort, and
enjoyed the daintily served meals, the shining glass and silver and the
deft, silent waiting of the sailors.

She had been given a luxurious cabin which seemed a paradise after her
dirty, carpetless bedroom, and in it she could laze and lounge in peace
without the eternal practising and rehearsals and running errands that
her soul loathed.

The hot sun glared down upon her, as she sat watching the racing waves.

She was a fantastic, slim, _bizarre_ figure with her coppery hair, over
which a lace scarf was tied, and high-heeled slippers on her beautiful
slender feet.

In her ears dangled huge turquoises, showing vividly against the white
skin that was coated thickly with scented powder.

The manager had told her that she must not get tanned or red or it
would spoil her type, and she now "made-up" habitually in the daytime.

Her whole array was tawdry and theatrical, and utterly out of keeping
with her surroundings.

The two owners of the yacht, who wore immaculate white linen clothes
and canvas shoes, expressed to each other their disapproval of her
whole get-up, and particularly of her clicking heels. In common with
most men, they abominated an _outre_ style of dressing and too much
jewellery, and above all such finery at sea.

The girl must be mad! Didn't she know that a schooner was not a circus
ring? If she were such a fool Poleski should have taught her better
before bringing her on board.

They agreed that he had sense enough in other things, and had certainly
trained her not to be a nuisance.

After _dejeuner_ Emile had hunted up the least doubtful of the French
novels they possessed and sent her up on deck to get the benefit of the
sea air of which she was supposed to stand in need.

"_Va t'en_, Arithelli," he said. "You don't want to be suffocating
yourself down in a stuffy cabin. You're here to get lots of ozone and
make yourself look a little less like a corpse. Besides, we want to
talk."

She felt very much depressed and neglected as she sat dangling "_Les
confessions d'une femme mariee_," which were virtuous to dulness and
interested her not at all, in a listless hand, long and delicate like
her feet, and decorated with too many turquoise rings. Below, in the
cabin, she could hear the noise of th