Then an awkward silence fell upon everybody, for, vulgarly speaking, the cat was out of the bag. And the conversation was kept up with difficulty until, descending the cliff, they all came to the little landing-pier, where a small boat was waiting with Clarence Massey standing up in it, waving his hat frantically and beaming with unspeakable enthusiasm. Neither George nor Nouna asked any questions now; and they all got into the little boat in a state of surprising silence, and were rowed straight out towards the beautiful yacht without anybody’s remarking upon the strangeness of the circumstance. But as they drew near her, Nouna caught sight of the name, painted in bright gold letters on the stern--“Scheherazade.” She touched her husband’s arm, and made him read it too. Before he could speak, they were close under the yacht, and Lord Florencecourt was leading the way on board. Nouna climbed up next like a cat, and the rest followed quickly. Then Ella took the young wife by the hand, and, leaving the three men on the deck, led her on a tour of inspection. The yacht was a tiny floating palace, fitted up by the dainty taste of one woman to suit the luxurious fancy of another. The rooms were hung with rich tapestry, and with delicate China silks embroidered in gold and pale colours. The woodwork was painted with birds and flowers on a background of faint grey landscape. The bed-room was fitted up with satin-wood, and hung with rose-coloured silk; while in order that George might have a corner better suited to masculine taste in this dainty little craft, a very small room, dark with old oak and serviceable leather, had been appointed for him as a study. Every corner of the yacht held something beautiful and curious: skins of white bears, mounted in maroon velvet; carvings in ivory, securely fixed on dark brackets that showed off their lacelike outlines; treasures in bronze, in delicate porcelain, in exquisitely tinted glass from Salviati’s, met the eyes at every turn. The whole furnishing and fitting of the little vessel, down to the choice of silver-gilt teaspoons from Delhi and a lamp which was said to have been dug up at Pompeii, had clearly been a labour of love. Nouna was overwhelmed; she walked along with her hand in Ella’s, scarcely uttering a sound, until at last she heard the words whispered in her ear: “This is a present for you--all for you, with my love. You are to make good use of it, and be very happy in it. No”--she stopped Nouna, who was breaking into tears, and incoherent, passionate thanks--“you may thank me when you and your husband both come sailing back strong and rosy and well.” Nouna smiled at her with glistening eyes as she put her little hands round the girl’s shoulders. “I can’t thank you, I can scarcely try. You were born to be a good fairy to everybody. Kiss me, kiss me hard, and give me some of your own sweetness that I may be a better wife.”