l of Swinburne.
The festivities were late on this second evening, as Mr. Smithson had
invited a good many people from the neighbourhood, but the house party
were not the less early on the following morning, which was the first
Henley day.

It was a peerless morning, and all the brasswork of Mr. Smithson's
launch sparkled and shone in the sun, as she lay in front of the
terrace. A wooden pier, a portable construction, was thrown out from the
terrace steps, to enable the company to go on board the launch without
the possibility of wet feet or damaged raiment.

Lesbia's Chaumount costume was a success. The women praised it, the men
stared and admired. The dark-blue silken jersey, sparkling with closely
studded indigo beads, fitted the slim graceful figure as a serpent's
scales fit the serpent. The coquettish little blue silk toque, the
careless cluster of gold-coloured poppies, against the glossy brown
hair, the large sunshade of old gold satin lined with indigo, the
flounced petticoat of softest Indian silk, the dainty little
tan-coloured boots with high heels and pointed toes, were all perfect
after their fashion; and Mr. Smithson felt that the liege lady of his
life, the woman he meant to marry willy nilly, would be the belle of the
race-course. Nor was he disappointed. Everybody in London had heard of
Lady Lesbia Haselden. Her photograph was in all the West-End windows,
was enshrined in the albums of South Kensington and Clapham, Maida Vale
and Haverstock Hill. People whose circles were far remote from Lady
Lesbia's circle, were as familiar with her beauty as if they had known
her from her cradle. And all these outsiders wanted to see her in the
flesh, just as they always thirst to behold Royal personages. So when it
became known that the beautiful Lady Lesbia Haselden was on board Mr.
Smithson's launch, all the people in the small boats, or on neighbouring
barges, made it their business if have a good look at her. The launch
was almost mobbed by those inquisitive little boats in the intervals
between the races.

'What are the people all staring and hustling one another for?' asked
Lesbia, innocently. She had seen the same hustling and whispering and
staring in the hall at the opera, when she was waiting for her carriage;
but she chose to affect unconsciousness. 'What do they all want?'

'I think they want to see you,' said Mr. Smithson, who was sitting by
her side. 'A very natural desire.'

Lesbia laughed, and l