WHEN I FINALLY went to seek out Mummy, she was with her film people again, reading through the script. It seems that Stella had had the script for ages and they had been looking for someone to play Mary. “And who is to play this Don Alonso with whom I’m to fall madly in love?” Mummy asked.

“We haven’t cast him yet. But someone as rugged and handsome as Juan, I promise you,” Cy said.

“This might be fun after all,” Mummy commented.

When we went down to dinner there was no sign of Princess Promila.

“She was very subdued last night,” I said. “I hope she’s feeling all right.”

“It was as smooth as a pond today,” Sir Digby said. “Nobody could feel seasick on a sea like this, could they, old dear?”

“I feel extremely healthy,” Lady Digby said, “but then I think it’s a question of mind over matter. I am very much involved with the health and beauty movement and the Girl Guides at home and the one thing I stress is plenty of exercise and fresh air. Sir Digby and I have walked around the deck five times today.”

After dinner we went up to dress for the costume ball. As soon as I put on the black cat costume I saw that it was a mistake. I’m quite tall and thin and the costume was tight fitting, making me look like a black drainpipe with ears and whiskers at the top of it.

“You look very nice,” Mummy said kindly, “and I’m sure you’ll have fun.”

She, of course, looked stunning as Cleopatra. The black wig accentuated her wide blue eyes around which she had now drawn a black line of kohl, and she was wearing a self-satisfied smile at the looks of appreciation she was getting until we reached the ballroom and found that Stella Brightwell was in an identical outfit.

“Really, that is too bad of them,” Mummy said. “They ought not to rent out more than one of the same thing.”

“They don’t care,” Stella said, “and besides, we both look divine, don’t we, Cy?”

“I’m brimming with pride over my two stars,” he said, putting an arm around each of them. He was dressed as Benjamin Franklin with a wig and round wire spectacles and really looked the part. When Juan came up to join us, both Stella and my mother gave a small noise, halfway between a groan and a sigh. If I thought I had any chance of his showing interest in a black drainpipe with whiskers I’d have groaned too. He was wearing tight fringed trousers, boots with spurs, a leather shirt open to his waist and a black cowboy hat. He tipped this to Stella, then took her hand and kissed it.

“I’m sure cowboys don’t kiss hands,” she laughed.