“Do they know Helia?”
“No!—or, rather—”
“Or rather yes?” interrupted Ethel.
“I am trying to tell you—”
“Good—you’ll tell me later.”
The delegates thought they were talking of the evening reception.
“Messieurs,” Ethel said to them, “it is understood. Thank the duke—I shall be there at the appointed hour.”
The delegates bowed, and Ethel accompanied them to the rail.
“Be careful not to fall, M. Zrnitschka, M. Bjelopawlitji! See, messieurs,” she added, pointing to a tarpaulin which they were arranging at the yacht’s side, “that is a bath-room—it’s a tropical invention. The tarpaulin is held by bars stretched out on the top of the water and making a rigid square. It’s a genuine bath-tub, five meters long and wide, and four feet deep. That does not prevent me from jumping over it when I wish, and I take a little turn in the open. That is the real bath-tub for me!” And she pointed to the sea.
Ethel could not keep her face straight at the frightened look of the delegates, who kept on bowing and bowing as they clambered down the steps.