se very high in the air and a non-committal
voice, had asked Marcella to go to Mrs. Hetherington's cabin the morning
after Gibraltar. She found the little lady propped up in her bunk, her
black hair all over the pillow, her small face rising from a foam of
pink ribbons and laces that seemed unreal to the girl.

"Oh, my dear, how sweet of you to come to me! I am terribly
ill--terribly ill," she said faintly.

"I am so sorry. Will I get the doctor?"

"Oh dear no. I am often like this! I suffer terribly, my dear, terribly.
My poor, poor head."

Marcella had bought a bottle of eau-de-Cologne at Gibraltar when the
Spanish merchants came aboard; she fetched it and bathed Mrs.
Hetherington's aching head. All the time she was staring at her
fascinating nightgown. It was the first dainty garment she had seen
close to since her mother's death.

"That is so nice, dear," she murmured. Marcella blushed. She was not
used to being called "dear" and liked it immensely.

"Would you brush my silly mop of hair and then pass me my cap, dear? Oh
this hair is a bother! I've often thought I'd have it cut off like a
convict."

"I think it is wonderful hair," Marcella told her, brushing it tenderly,
and plaiting it back before she arranged it under a ridiculous boudoir
cap of ribbon and lace.

"I can't tell you how I suffered during the night, dear," said Mrs.
Hetherington plaintively. "(Just pass me the hand mirror, will you?) I
can't think why I was so foolish as to travel steerage. Those three
emigrant girls in this cabin--my dear, they are absolutely _coarse_! You
should see their underclothes! Look, Marcella--I'm going to call you
Marcella, you are so sweet. Look at that nightgown on the top bunk.
_Pink flannelette_! And I hate to share my cabin with them! They've gone
on deck now for the day. I told them I simply must be alone."

"Aren't you going to have any breakfast?" asked Marcella. "I'll make you
some tea if you like." She and Louis had bought a teapot at Gibraltar,
solemnly paying half each and sharing the responsibility for the
sacrifice of the other one.

"No, I don't think I could drink tea. What do you think I could have?
You know, my dear, it was champagne that upset me like this! Mistah
Petahs and I had a small bottle last night and it brought everything
back."

She began to wipe a plaintive eye on her small handkerchief.

"The day I married my dear George--the father of my darlings--we had
champagne. It always