"
"But I find it entertaining."
"Nevertheless, we must leave."
"But if I choose to stay?"
"No; for Harry would stay with you."
"Well, then--I won't go."
"Le Mire, you will go?"
She sent me a flashing glance, and for a moment I half expected
an explosion. Then, seeming to think better of it, she smiled:
"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."
"Then I say--allons! Ah, my friend, you are perfection! I want to
see it.
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