“Why don’t you go back into the water again?”
“I can’t. It gives me a chill.”
“A chill!” said Frances, and couldn’t keep a faint contempt out of her voice. “You’d better go and dress. I’ll be out presently.”
“I shouldn’t think of leaving you; you’re so rash. Go ahead, enjoy yourself; I’ll wait.”
His good nature conquered Frances; she gave one more look at the glittering sea and went back into her bath-house.
She had to wait quite twenty minutes for him.
“You’re quick, aren’t you?” he said, artlessly.
“Or is it that you’re slow?” she returned. Now he was his own self again, the imperturbable, the superior. She wished to forget the shivering, frail being who had for a time supplanted him.
He ordered an amazing lunch, in the old “Oriental,” which was still standing then, with its unique flavour; he saw people whom he knew by sight and could point out to Frankie. He ordered champagne, which she had never before tasted. He was like a prince, or rather, like a millionaire....
After this meal, which was nothing less than a banquet, Frances said she would have to go home.