Winnie Childs | Page 4

"Thank heaven, she's a bad sailor!" Miss Devereux cried.
"Thank heaven, all the other women on board are bad sailors," added
Win.
"If madame was well she'd think we ought to be," said Miss Carroll.
"She'd dock our pay every time we--- Oh, this is bad enough, but if she
was well it would be a million times worse!"
"Could anything be worse?" Miss Tyndale pitifully questioned, for just
then the ship was sliding down the side of a wave as big as a
millionaire's house.
"Yes, it would be worse if we were wearing our waists slender this
year," said Win.

"Down, down, wallow, wallow, jump!" was the program the Monarchic
carried out for the twentieth time in half as many minutes. Slender
waists! Oh, horrible to think of, unless you broke in two and death
ended your troubles!
"Let's try breathing in as she goes up and out as she goes down. I've
heard that works wonderfully," said Win.
They tried, but it worked disappointingly that time. Perhaps it was the
ship's fault. It was impossible to time her antics with the most careful
breathing.
"Oh, why did we leave our peaceful homes?" moaned Miss Vedrine.
"I didn't," whispered Win.
"Didn't what?"
"Leave my peaceful home. If I'd had one I shouldn't be here."
This was the first time she had volunteered or had had dragged out of
her a word concerning her past. But at the moment no one could be
keyed to interest in anything except preparation for the next wave.
In the veranda cafe Peter Rolls was asking his sister Ena if she knew
anything about five incredibly beautiful girls in evening dress shut up
together in a room with walls made of mirrors.
Ena Rolls was not in a mood to answer irrelevant questions, especially
from a brother; but Lord Raygan and his sister were there, and pricked
up their ears at the hint of a mystery. She could not be cross and ask
Peter kindly to go to the devil and not talk rot, as she would have done
if the others had been somewhere else. But then, were it not for Lord
Raygan and his sister and mother, Miss Rolls would be flat in her berth.
"Five incredibly beautiful girls in evening dress!" repeated Lord
Raygan, who, like Peter, was a good sailor.
Ena Rolls wanted him to be interested in her, and not in five

preposterous persons in evening dress, so she replied promptly to
Peter's question: "I suppose they must be Nadine's living models. We
all had cards about their being on board and the hours of their parade to
show the latest fashions. You saw the card, I suppose, Lady Eileen?"
"Yes," returned Lord Raygan's flapper sister. "It's on the writing-desk
in that darling sitting-room you've given Mubs and me."
Ena felt rewarded for her sacrifice. She and Peter had engaged the best
suite on board the Monarchic, but when Lord Raygan and his mother
and sister were borne past Queenstown in most unworthy cabins (two
very small ones between the three), Ena had given up her own and
Peter's room to the two ladies. It was a Providential chance to make
their acquaintance and win their gratitude. (She had met Raygan in
Egypt and London, and sailed on the Monarchic in consequence.)
"The stewardess told me before I moved down," she went on, "that
Mme. Nadine had taken the ship's nursery this trip for her show, and
fitted it with wardrobes and mirror doors at immense expense. I'm
afraid she won't get her money back if this storm lasts. Who could gaze
at living models?"
"I could, if they're as beautiful as your brother says," replied Lord
Raygan, a tall, lanky, red-headed Irishman with humorous eyes and a
heavy jaw. He was the first earl Ena had ever met, but she prayed
fervently that he might not be the last.
Peter somehow did not want those pale dryads sacrificed to make a
Raygan holiday. He regretted having remarked on their beauty. "They
looked more like dying than living models when I saw them," he said.
"Let's go and see what they look like now," suggested Raygan. "Eh,
what, Miss Rolls?"
"I don't know if men can go," she hesitated.
"Who's to stop them? Why shouldn't I be wanting to buy one of the
dresses off their backs for my sister?"

"What a melting idea! You do, don't you, dear boy?" the flapper
encouraged him.
"I might. Come along, Miss Rolls. Come along, Eily. What about you,
Rolls? Will you guide us?"
"Let's wait till after lunch," said Ena. She hoped that it might disagree
with everybody, and then they would not want to go.
"Oh, no!" pleaded Lady Eileen O'Neill. "We may be dead after
luncheon, and probably will be. Or