indifferent to the heaving of ships and the eccentricities of the sea. The
specific had done all that was claimed for it--which was a great deal--so
much so that they felt themselves superwomen among a cargo of flaccid and
feeble sub-females. And they grew charmingly conceited.

"Am I in my cabin?" murmured the martyr, about a quarter of an hour after
Miss Ingate, having obtained soda water, had administered to her a dose of
the miraculous specific.

Her delicious cheeks were now a delicate crimson. But they had been of a
delicate crimson throughout.

"No," said Audrey. "You're in ours. Which is yours?"

"It's on the other side of the ship, then. I came out for a little air. But
I couldn't get back. I'd just as lief have died as shift from that seat out
there by the railings."

Something in the accent, something in those fine English words "lief" and
"shift," destroyed in the minds of Audrey and Miss Ingate the agreeable
notion that they had a peeress on their hands.

"Is your husband on board?" asked Audrey.

"He just is," was the answer. "He's in our cabin."

"Shall I fetch him?" Miss Ingate suggested. The corners of her lips had
begun to fall once more.

"Will you?" said the young woman. "It's Lord Southminster. I'm Lady