think that she lost her head for a moment.  On the contrary during her triumphal convoy she saw everything with remarkable distinctness.  She knew well enough that some scores of women, all around, were envying her, yet admiring in spite of their envy.  Without hearing them, she could almost tell what comments were uttered in boat after boat as she passed.  But what mattered their envy, so long as they admired?  Nay, what mattered their envy, so long as they envied?  The tonic north wind, the sunshine, the sparkle of the water, the gay lines of bunting flickering from stem to stern of the Committee Ship, the invigorating blare of the Troy Town Band, now throwing its soul into “Champagne Charlie,” the propulsion of the oars that seemed to snatch her and sweep her forward past wondering faces to high destiny—­ all these were wings, and lifted her spirit with them.  She began to under stand what it must feel like to be a Queen, or (at least) a Prime Minister’s wife.

“Ea-sy all!  In oars! . . .  Bow, stand by to check her!”

Cai called his orders clearly, sharply, in the tone of a master of men.  A score of boats hampered approach to the accommodation ladder; but those that had occupants were obediently thrust wide to make way, and easily as in a barge of state Mrs Bosenna was brought alongside.  A dozen hands checked the way of the boat, now abruptly.  Other hands were stretched to help her up the ladder, which she ascended with smiling and graceful agility.  On the deck, at the head of it, stood the Hon. Secretary, with the silver cup ready, nursed in the crook of his arm.  It was a handsome cup, and it flashed in the sunlight.  The Hon. Secretary doffed his yachting cap.  A dozen men close behind him doffed their caps at the signal.  They were the successful competitors of the dinghy race, mixed up with committee-men:  they had come to receive their prizes.  The competing boats, their sails lowered, had been brought alongside, and lay tethered, trailing off from the ship’s quarter, rubbing shoulders in a huddle.

Cai, mounting to the deck close behind Dinah, who had followed her mistress, was met by the Hon. Secretary with the announcement that everything had been ready these ten minutes.

Almost before she could catch her breath, Mrs Bosenna found the cup thrust into her hands; the band in the fore part of the vessel ceased—­ or, to speak more accurately, smothered—­“Champagne Charlie”; the group before her fell back to form a semicircle and urged forward the abashed first-prize winner, who stood rubbing one ankle against another and awkwardly touching his forelock, while a silence fell, broken only by voices from the boats around calling “Order!  Or-der for the speech!”

Mrs Bosenna, recognising the champion in spite of his blushes, collected her courage, smiled, and said—­

“Why, ’tis Walter Sobey!”

“Servant, ma’am!” Mr Sobey touched his forelock again and grinned, as who should add, “You and me, ma’am, meets in strange places.”