“I wish there was a Duchess on board, with a million pounds sterling and eighteen children, and that she would fall overboard and I could save her life,” was her fantastic thought. She must have said it out loud for Johnnie murmured, “Heaven help us!” and then glanced at the little governess. “Oh, you mean for Miss Mitchall. But why stop at eighteen when you’re wishing!” Cynthia spluttered into giggles and felt better. In fact she could scarcely eat her dinner for all that was going on around her. Bright balloons bumped her elbow, a rain of multicolored confetti sprinkled the table cloth and brilliant streamers of paper flying through the air, must be picked up and returned, lacing the dining saloon with carnival colors. After dinner there was a dance in the lounge. Cynthia had looked forward to it all day and the day before, but after a few waltzes and foxtrots it began, somehow, to fall flat. Everyone else seemed to be having a perfectly gorgeous time. Even little Miss Mitchall was plentifully supplied with partners but their enjoyment seemed only to increase Cynthia’s gloom as every step she made took her nearer to the time of leaving the ship, to the dreaded unknown. She knew what it was. She had done too little work for days. This wasn’t the first time that idleness had made her miserable, and it would be useless to explain this to her puzzled partners. Between dances she would slip off and dive below for her sketch pad. Drawing would bring the relief it always had brought and as for models, they were all about her. All she needed was her book to make a record, not just of the clever costumes around her, but of the movement and the groups that the dancers made. Why not get it? Left, for the moment, between dances without a partner, Cynthia decided that she would, and sped down to the cabin. As she came along the main corridor, deserted now since all of the room stewards were at their dinner, she heard a door banging, banging, with the slow swing of the ship and irritatedly wondered why no one had fastened it. Turning down the small corridor that led to her own cabin she noted that the swinging door was that opposite her own. If someone were ill in there, the door must be extremely annoying. She opened her own door, switched on the cabin light, found her sketch book and stepped out again. Again the door opposite slammed back. The cabin light was on. She tapped gently on the doorframe. Perhaps the occupant was too ill to get up. But no one answered.