“I suppose there’s no danger, darling?” the Countess replied, and scarcely had she time to make any slight objection, than the owner of a steady wide-bottomed boat—the Calypso—was helping them to embark.
The Island of St Helena, situated towards the lake’s bourne, lay distant some two miles or more, and within a short way of the open sea.
With sails distended to a languid breeze the shore eventually was left behind; and the demoiselle cranes, in mid-lake, were able to observe there were two court dames among them.
“Although he’s dark, Vi,” Mademoiselle Olga Blumenghast presently exclaimed, dropping her cheek to a frail hand upon the tiller, “although he’s dark, it’s odd how he gives one the impression somehow of perfect fairness!”
“Who’s that, darling?” the Countess murmured, appraising with fine eyes, faintly weary, the orchid-like style of beauty of her friend.
“Ann-Jules, of course.”
“I begin to wish, do you know, I’d brought Pomegranates, and worn something else!”
“What are those big burley-worleys?”
“Pears....”
“Give me one.”