"Everyone says she's a handsome boat," the old fellow remarked carelessly. Then he added: "Are you fond of the sea?"
"Passionately. I always regret when the Channel passage is finished."
"Perhaps you would like to go on a cruise in the Vispera?" he said. "If you would, I should be very pleased to take you. I might invite a party for a run, say, to Naples or Smyrna and back."
"I should be delighted," I answered enthusiastically, for yachting was one of my favourite pastimes, and on board such a magnificent craft, one of the finest private vessels afloat, life would be most enjoyable.
"Very well, I'll see what I can arrange," he answered; and then we fell to discussing other things.
He smoked thoughtfully as he strolled beside me, his mind evidently much preoccupied. The stars were bright overhead, the night balmy and still, and the air was heavy with the scent of flowers. It was hard to believe that it was actually mid-winter.
"I fear," he said at last—"I fear, Miss Rosselli, that you find me a rather lonely man, don't you?"
"You have no reason to be lonely," I responded. "Surrounded by all these friends, your life might surely be very gay if you wished."
"Friends? Bah!" he cried, in a tone of ridicule. "There's an attraction in money that is irresistible. These people here, all of them, bow down before the golden calf. Sometimes, Miss Rosselli, I have thought that there's no real honesty of purpose in the world."
"I'm afraid you are a bit of a cynic," I laughed.