The table glittered with cut glass, plate, flowers, and a luncheon fit for the Caliph of Bagdad himself.
Never had that little bower of luxury ever been filled with sweeter voices or lighter laughter.
It was all delightful, from the lobsters that would roll about as if they were alive to the champagne which popped about the cabin like mimic guns of distress, Violet declared; and Leicester, seated next her, was heard to laugh aloud at one of Bertie's jokes—a thing unknown hitherto.
"Now suppose," said Leicester to Lady Ethel, "we turned out to be pirates, and all this while were carrying you off to the Mediterranean."
As he spoke the sails flapped against the mast, and the vessel rolled suddenly.
He looked up at the sky through the window with a sharp glance.
"The wind is changing," he said, quietly. "We shall have a calm."
"A calm," said Lady Ethel to Bertie. "Then we shall not be able to get on."
"Yes," he said, with a secret thrill of exultation. "I am afraid not. Where are you going, Leicester?"
"On deck," said Leicester, and he sprang up the companionway.