General Wilders came aft.

“You had better put on your best clothes, general; they are coming to fetch you in state.”

“I suppose, on this occasion only, you will wear a hat, Bill?” said Mrs. Wilders.

“I wish you would go down and get ready, my dear; we ought not to keep the gig,” said the general, as he himself went below to dress.

“I am not so sure I shall go on shore at all,” replied his wife.

“No!” cried Lord Lydstone.  “Throw the general over, and stay on board with me.”

“That would be too great penance,” said Mrs. Wilders, as she moved towards the companion-ladder.  “I’ve had enough of your lordship for one day.”

Lydstone got up, looking rather vexed, and followed her across the deck.  When he was quite close to her side he whispered with suppressed but manifest feeling—­

“Why do you torture me so?  Sometimes I think you care for me; sometimes that you hate and detest me.  What am I think?”

“What you choose,” she answered, in a low, quick voice, evidently much displeased.  “I have given you no right to speak to me in this way.  Let me pass, or I shall appeal to my lawful protector!”

Presently Mrs. Wilders reappeared, dressed to perfection in some cool light fabric, serene and smiling to everyone but Lord Lydstone.  She was especially gracious to young Mr. Wilders, who had come off in the Governor’s gig, and had been cordially welcomed by his brother.

“Another cousin,” said the general, introducing him.  He was now in uniform—­the general—­in uniform to suit his own fancy rather than the regulations.  The only orthodox articles of apparel were his twisted general’s scimitar and a forage-cap with a broad gold band.  His coat and waistcoat were of white cloth; he had a wide crimson sash round his waist, and his lower limbs were encased in hunting-breeches and long boots.  “Anastasius, one of the Royal Picts.”

“All soldiers, you Wilders, all—­except one.”  This was specially intended to annoy Lydstone.  “The future head of the house is kept in cotton-wool; he is too precious, I suppose, to be risked.”

“It is not my fault,” began Lydstone.  It was a sore point with him that he had not been permitted—­in deference to his mother’s fond protests—­to enter the army.

“Are you not coming with us, Lydstone?” said his young brother, greatly disappointed.  “I did want to show you our mess.”

“I know Gibraltar by heart, and I have letters to write.  I hope you will enjoy yourself, Countess,” he added, sarcastically, as they went down the side.

“There’s no fear of that, now we have left you behind,” replied Mrs. Wilders, sharply.

“Why can’t you and Lydstone keep better friends?” said General Wilders, a little shocked at this remark.

“It’s his fault, not mine, and that’s enough about it,” replied Mrs. Wilders, rather petulantly.  “Did you ever quarrel with your brother,” she went on to Anastasius, “when you were boys?”