“Yes,” he said at length, “one can have too much of a good thing, and sometimes it is even possible to have too much of the Riviera. I have the satisfaction at least of having succeeded in obtaining a footing in society.” And he laughed as he added, “A year ago I was a down-at-heel adventurer, almost too shabby to obtain admittance at Monte Carlo, while to-day I’m welcomed everywhere, even among the most exclusive set. And why? Merely because I have money and impudence.”
“Yes,” Liane admitted, with a touch of sorrow. “This is indeed a curious world. There is a good deal of truth in the saying that a man is too often judged by his coat.”
“And a woman by her dress,” he added quickly. “When you are Princess d’Auzac, you will find that other women will crowd around you and pet you, and declare you are the most beautiful girl of the year—as, of course, you are—all because you have wealth and a title. They like to speak to their friends of ‘My friend the Princess So-and-So.’”
“You are very complimentary,” she answered, coldly. “I have no desire to excite either the admiration or envy of other women.”
“Because you have never yet fully realised how beautiful you are,” he answered.
“Oh yes, I have. Every woman knows the exact worth of her good looks.”
“Some over-estimate them, no doubt,” he said, with a laugh. “But you have always under-estimated yours. If the Captain had chosen he could have already married you to a dozen different men, all wealthy and distinguished.”
“Dear old dad loved me too well to sacrifice my happiness for money,” she said, climbing slowly the steep hill.
“Yet you declare that you are doing so by marrying me,” he observed, his eyes fixed upon the ground.
“I am only marrying you because you compel me,” she answered, huskily. “You know that.”