"Which he?" queried Sue.

"Both of them; but the first especially. That kick bespoke football
training."

"And he has evidently kept in condition," added Sue. "The owner of the
dog wasn't a bad-looking fellow, either--interesting, too, I haven't a
doubt, and I do like interesting people! But the nerve of him--offering
me his dog! I'm afraid we need a chaperon, after all, my dear."

"Yes," agreed Nell, "perhaps we do. But it would be an awful bother."

They walked on to the end of the beach, then mounted to the Digue and
strolled slowly back toward the hotel, enjoying the breeze, the colour,
the sunshine, the strange and varied life of the place.

Stretching along the landward side of the dyke stood a row of little
houses, green and pink and white, with tile roofs mounting steeply
upward, their red surfaces broken by innumerable dormers. These had once
been the homes of honest and industrious fishermen, but time had changed
all that. They had been remodelled to suit the demands of business, and
every house had now on the lower floor an expensive little shop with
monsieur sitting complacently at the door and madame, fat and voluble,
at the money-drawer, and on the floor above, a still more expensive
suite of rooms to let--rooms panelled in white and gold, resplendent
with rococo mouldings, and crowded with abominable furniture, intended
to be coquettish--gilt chairs, scalloped tables, embroidered
lambrequins, ottomans smothered in plush and fringe, beds draped with
curtains until they were all but air-tight--in effect more French than