"Oh! Thank you, dearest; you're spoiling me horribly. Do let me take it."
"I will not. Of course I am spoiling you. That is what you're here for. Your highest duty in life is to be spoiled. Let's go on the Mole."
They set off. A dark man, overdressed in striped flannels, nearly stood still at the sight of Lilian, gazing at her as though he had paid five francs for the right to do so.
"My goodness!" she muttered. "How they do stare here!"
"Why grudge them harmless enjoyment," Felix observed. "You're giving pleasure to every man that looks at you, and envy to most of the women. You're fulfilling a very valuable function in the world, If anyone is justified in objecting, I am, and I don't object. On the contrary, I'm as proud of the staring as if I'd created you. There's nothing to beat you on this coast, with your ingenuous English style of beauty, and half the pretty women here would sell their souls to look as innocent as you look, believe me!"
Lilian said nothing in reply. The fact was that the man simply could not open his mouth without giving her more to think about than she could manage.
At the quay they examined all the yachts, big and little, that were moored, stern on, side by side. There were three large steam yachts, and the largest of the three, with two decks and a navigating deck, all white and gold and mahogany and bunting and flowers and fluttering awnings, overpoweringly dominated the port. Felix stopped and stared at the glinting enormity.
"Is that only a yacht?" Lilian cried. "Why! It's bigger than the Channel steamer!"
"No!" said Felix, "but she's the fourth largest yacht in the world. That's the celebrated Qita. Crew of eighty odd. She came in last night for stores, and she's leaving again to-night, going to Naples. And here are the stores, you may depend." A lorry loaded with cases of wine drove up.
"But it's all like a fairy tale," said Lilian.