"It was nothing," protested Susie. "I am very glad I happened to be just here. Though I don't suppose that either I or the dog was in danger of being eaten," she added to Markeld, as the little old woman trotted tremulously away. "Your dog doesn't look especially ferocious." "Still, I beg a thousand pardons," repeated the Prince. "I should have kept my eye on him. Come here, Jax," he called, "and make your apologies to the ladies." Jax crawled up very humbly and Susie stooped and patted his head. "Poor Jax," she said. "It wasn't your fault, I know. I'm sure that little spaniel insulted you!" Jax licked her hand gratefully, and the Prince looked on with an admiration he did not attempt to conceal. "Would you like him?" he asked, eagerly. Susie started up with crimsoning cheeks. "No, thank you," she said, and taking her sister's arm, she walked on, chin in air. The Prince gazed after her, wide-eyed, for a moment, then turned resolutely and continued on his way. "Well," began Nell, at the end of a minute, "he quite took my breath away!" "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 France.