siness might be avoided; and then there need be
no change in captain or crew. The yacht must be safe enough lying at
anchor in the roadstead. By-and-by, when the visitors had departed, and
Mr. Smithson was reposefully enjoying his tea by Lady Lesbia's side, he
approached the subject.

'Do you really care about crossing to St. Malo after this--really prefer
the idea to Ryde?'

'Infinitely,' exclaimed Lesbia, quickly. 'Ryde would only be Cowes ever
again--a lesser Cowes; and I thought when you first proposed it that the
plan was rather stupid, though I did not want to be uncivil and say so.
But I was delighted with Don Gomez de Montesma's amendment, substituting
St. Malo for Ryde. In the first place the trip across will be
delicious'--Lady Kirkbank gave a faint groan--'and in the second place I
am dying to see Brittany.'

'I doubt if you will highly appreciate St. Malo. It is a town of many
and various smells.'

'But I want to smell those foreign smells of which one hears much. At
least it is an experience. We need not be on shore any longer than we
like. And I want to see that fine rocky coast, and Chateaubriand's tomb
on the what's-its-name. So nice to be buried in that way.'

'Then you have set your heart on going to St. Malo, and would not like
any change in our plan?'

'Any change will be simply detestable,' answered Lesbia, all the more
decidedly since she suspected a desire for change on the part of Mr.
Smithson.

She was in no amiable humour this afternoon. All her nerves seemed
strained to their utmost tension. She was irritated, tremulous with
nervous excitement, inclined to hate everybody, Horace Smithson most of
all. In her cabin a little later on, when she was changing her gown for
dinner, and Kibble was somewhat slow and clumsy in the lacing of the
bodice, she wrenched herself from the girl's hands, flung herself into a
chair, and burst into a flood of passionate tears.

'O God! that I were on one of those islands in the Caribbean Sea--an
island where Europeans never come--where I might lie down among the
poisonous tropical flowers, and sleep the rest of my days away. I am
sick to death of my life here; of the yacht, the people--everything.'

'This air is too relaxing, Lady Lesbia,' the girl murmured, soothingly;
'and you didn't have your natural rest last night. Shall I get you a
nice strong cup of tea?'

'Tea! no. I have been living upon tea for the last twenty-four hours. I
have eaten nothing