Their dull days had been dimly lightened by gossip on the ship, brought to them by a stewardess from Lord Raygan’s native isle, who knew all about him:  that he was an earl, that with his mother and sister he had booked from Liverpool to Queenstown, but, owing to the ferocity of the sea, had been unable to land and was being carried to America.  Also that a rich young American and his sister had given up their suite to the ladies.  This American was said to be of no birth, the son of some big shopkeeper, and far, far outside even the fringe of the Four Hundred; therefore the tallest dryads did their best eyelash work for Lord Raygan.  They were born British, hailing from Brixton or other suburban health resorts, and now they knew he was a “lord” the nickname of “Rags,” which had sickened them at first, seemed interesting and intimate as a domestic anecdote about royalty.

Rags consented to buy the dress for his sister if it fitted and didn’t cost a million pounds.  The dryads thought this adorably generous, for the stewardess, who knew all about Lord Raygan, said that the “family had become impoverished; they were not what they had once been except in name, which was of the best and oldest in Ireland.”  Stewardesses can tell all the things that Marconi does not mention.

When the sale was settled Miss Devereux turned to Peter Rolls.  “And you, sir?” she asked, slightly coquettish because he was a man, though not of the Four Hundred.  “I suppose there’s nothing we can do for you?”

“I suppose not,” Peter was echoing, when something occurred to him.  “Unless,” he amended, “my sister would like to buy a dress.  She’s on board.”

“Would she care to look at Mme. Nadine’s designs?” suggested Miss Devereux.  “We have wardrobes full of marvellous inspirations.”

“The trouble is, she feels queer if she walks around much,” said Peter.

“Perhaps she would trust you to pick out something she might see in her own room?  Is she tall or short?”

“Not so tall as any of you.”

“Things which would fit this young lady would be the best, then.  Miss Child, Miss Vedrine will help you out of ‘First Love’ behind the screen and put you into the ‘Young Moon.’  What”—­sotto voce—­“are you laughing at this time?”

“Nothing,” said the smallest dryad meekly, though she gurgled under her breath.

“We’d better go now, and I’ll come back,” hastily suggested Peter.  “Don’t bother to change behind the screen for us, please.  I must ask my sister about the dress.”

He got the others out, which was not difficult as far as Eileen was concerned.  She could hardly wait to try “First Love.”

Rags was determined to ask Miss Rolls if he shouldn’t choose a frock for her.  But she said no, she didn’t want one.  This would have seemed to settle the matter, and did for Lord Raygan, who sat down beside her, abandoning further thought of the dryads.  Peter, however, returned in due course to the room of the mirrors, because Miss Child could not be allowed to get into the “Young Moon” in such weather for nothing.