"But where? We can't go west without falling into the ocean, and I refuse to return. Where?"
"Then we'll take the ocean."
She looked up questioningly, and I continued:
"What would you say to a yacht—a hundred and twenty foot steamer, with a daredevil captain and the coziest little cabins in the world?"
"Bah!" Le Mire snapped her fingers to emphasize her incredulity. "It does not exist."
"But it does. Afloat and in commission, to be had for the asking and the necessary check. Dazzling white, in perfect order, a second Antoine for a chef, rooms furnished as you would your own villa. What do you say?"
"Really?" asked Le Mire with sparkling eyes.
"Really."
"Here—in San Francisco?"
"In the harbor. I saw her myself this morning."