"My wife," Peter informed him. "Violet objects very much to these abrupt separations. This week, too, I was shooting at Saxthorpe, and I had also several other engagements of a pleasant nature. Besides, I have reached that age when I find it disconcerting to be called out of bed in the middle of the night to answer a long-distance telephone call, and told to embark on an American liner leaving Southampton early the next morning. It may be your idea of a pleasure-trip. It isn't mine." Sogrange was amused. His smile, however, was hidden. Only the tip of his cigarette was visible. "Anything else?" "Nothing much, except that I am always seasick," Peter replied deliberately. "I can feel it coming on now. I wish that fellow would keep away with his beastly mutton broth. The whole ship seems to smell of it." Sogrange laughed, softly but without disguise. "Who said anything about a pleasure-trip?" he demanded. Peter turned his head. "You did. You told me when you came on at Cherbourg that you had to go to New York to look after some property there, that things were very quiet in London, and that you hated travelling alone. Therefore you sent for me at a few hours' notice." "Is that what I told you?" Sogrange murmured. "Yes! Wasn't it true?" Peter asked, suddenly alert. "Not a word of it," Sogrange admitted. "It is quite amazing that you should have believed it for a moment." "I was a fool," Peter confessed. "You see, I was tired and a little cross. Besides, somehow or other, I never associated a trip to America with----" Sogrange interrupted him, quietly but ruthlessly. "Lift up the label attached to the chair next to yours. Read it out to me." Peter took it into his hand and turned it over. A quick exclamation escaped him. "Great heavens! 'The Count von Hern'--Bernadine!" "Just so," Sogrange assented. "Nice, clear writing, isn't it?" Peter sat bolt upright in his chair. "Do you mean to say that Bernadine is on board?" Sogrange shook his head. "By the exercise, my dear Baron," he said, "of a superlative amount of ingenuity, I was able to prevent that misfortune. Now lean over and read the label on the next chair." Peter obeyed. His manner had acquired a new briskness. "'La Duchesse della Nermino,'" he announced. Sogrange nodded. "Everything just as it should be," he declared. "Change those labels, my friend, as quickly as you can." Peter's fingers were nimble, and the thing was done in a few seconds. "So I am to sit next the Spanish lady," he remarked, feeling for his tie. "Not only that, but you are to make friends with her," Sogrange replied. "You are to be your captivating self, Baron. The Duchesse is to forget her weakness for hot rooms. She is to develop a taste for sea air and your society." "Is she," Peter asked anxiously, "old or young?" Sogrange showed a disposition to fence with the question.