She flushed a little, but her clear eyes met his with absolute candour.
"We have a French governess," she explained, "who was brought up in a
convent, so she is very easily shocked. If she knew that I had spoken to
a stranger, and a man"--she raised her hands with a merry gesture--"she
would have a fit--several fits. I couldn't risk it. Poor mademoiselle!
She doesn't understand our English ways a bit. Why, she wouldn't even let
me paddle if she could help it. I shall have to keep very quiet about
this foot of mine, or it will be '_Jamais encore_!' and '_Encore
jamais_!' for the rest of my natural life. And, after all," pathetically,
"there can be no great harm in dipping one's feet in sea-water, can
there?"

But the Frenchman looked grave. "You will show your foot to the doctor,
will you not?" he said.

"Dear me, no!" said Chris.

"_Mais, mademoiselle_--"

She checked him with her quick, winning smile.

"Please don't talk French. I like English so much the best. Besides, it's
holiday-time."

"But, mademoiselle," he persisted, "if it should become serious!"

"Oh, it won't," she said lightly. "I shall be all right. Nothing ever
happens to me."