Montesma had nothing to do but to amuse himself and his companions all
day in the saloon, amidst odours of roses and peaches, in a shadowy
coolness made by striped silken blinds; but Mr. Smithson was not so much
his own master. That innumerable company of friends which are the
portion of the rich man given to hospitality would not let the owner of
the _Cayman_ go scot-free.
At a place like Cowes, on the eve of the regatta week, the freelances of
society expect to find entertainment; and Mr. Smithson had to maintain
his character for princely hospitalities at the sacrifice of his
feelings as a lover. Every ripple of Lesbia's silvery laughter, every
deep tone of Montesma's voice, from the cabin below, sent a pang to his
jealous soul; and yet he had to smile, and to order more champagne cup,
and to be lavish of his best cigars, albeit insisting that his friends
should smoke their cigars in the bows well to leeward, so that no foul
breathings of tobacco should pollute his Cleopatra galley.
Cleopatra was very happy meanwhile, sublimely indifferent even to the
odours of tobacco.
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