The manager had told her that she must not get tanned or red or it would spoil her type, and she now "made-up" habitually in the daytime.
Her whole array was tawdry and theatrical, and utterly out of keeping with her surroundings.
The two owners of the yacht, who wore immaculate white linen clothes and canvas shoes, expressed to each other their disapproval of her whole get-up, and particularly of her clicking heels. In common with most men, they abominated an outré style of dressing and too much jewellery, and above all such finery at sea.
The girl must be mad! Didn't she know that a schooner was not a circus ring? If she were such a fool Poleski should have taught her better before bringing her on board.
They agreed that he had sense enough in other things, and had certainly trained her not to be a nuisance.
After déjeuner Emile had hunted up the least doubtful of the French novels they possessed and sent her up on deck to get the benefit of the sea air of which she was supposed to stand in need.
"Va t'en, Arithelli," he said. "You don't want to be suffocating yourself down in a stuffy cabin. You're here to get lots of ozone and make yourself look a little less like a corpse. Besides, we want to talk."
She felt very much depressed and neglected as she sat dangling "Les confessions d'une femme mariée," which were virtuous to dulness and interested her not at all, in a listless hand, long and delicate like her feet, and decorated with too many turquoise rings. Below, in the cabin, she could hear the noise of the men as they argued and shouted at each other in a polyglot of three different languages.
Arithelli felt more than a little resentful. Why had they shut her out and prevented her from hearing their discussions?
The men at the other meetings had always wanted her in the room.