She thought not. Yet she was not vain.
CHAPTER IV.
‘The “Zostera” looks tempting in the sunshine,’ said Nadine Napraxine, as she rose and leaned on the marble balustrade to gaze over the sea, where the stately sailing yacht of Geraldine was at anchor outside the little bay of La Jacquemerille, which was too shallow to be entered. ‘I will go out in her in ten minutes’ time. I prefer to watch the sunset from the sea, and the sunset will be very fine to-day, for there are a few clouds above; the sky is usually so terribly monotonous here, it is like an eulogy of your predecessor at the Academy: il y a trop de bleu. Monsignore, I will take you back to Nice by the coast. I dislike coasting usually, but along this shore it is pretty, and besides, it is too late to go far out to sea. Lord Geraldine, go and give your men the order. I will go and change my clothes.—Wilkes, you will come?’
Geraldine sullenly obeyed, and went down the steps to where his long boat was still in waiting. In a very few moments the Princess Napraxine returned, not clothed in any maritime fashion, for she thought that sort of thing theatrical, foolish, and staring; but wearing a dark serge gown, fitting with marvellous precision to the perfect contour and lines of her form, and carrying a scarlet parasol large enough to shelter the dignity of any Chinese mandarin. She wore yachting shoes and scarlet stockings; her feet, like her hands, were such as sculptors dream of but seldom see.
‘Tell them to put in my furs,’ she said to Geraldine. ‘Are you ready? It is always so cold here when the sun has gone down. We will take Count Othmar and Monsignore Melville to Nice. It is a beautiful day for a sail, just wind enough and not too much. Platon goes to his adored tripot; I wonder he stayed to eat his breakfast.’
‘The “Zostera,” of course, is at your commands,’ murmured Geraldine, with ill-disguised ill-humour. ‘For myself, if you will excuse me, I will accompany the Prince.’
She smiled, understanding his ill-humour well enough.