Hardened as Minna was, and readily as she would have laughed at the speech coming from the lips of another man, yet in the remorseful bitterness of her heart, which this sudden association with him seemed to have swelled to sensitive tenseness, she felt his words jar through her body. “One’s own self-mockery is enough,” she replied, coldly. “Oh, come,” he cried with a laugh, “we are not going to turn ourselves inside out, as if we were at a London afternoon tea and anatomy crush. It’s rough on the ponies. You haven’t even admired them.” As they turned on to the smooth white road between the Public Gardens and the sea, and dashed down the long Promenade des Anglais, with great clatter of hoofs and tossing of impatient heads, Gerard felt the man’s pride in association with respectable horseflesh. He was in luck. Such a turn-out is not to be met with in every Riviera livery stable. And the elemental pride in temporary possession of female beauty added to his satisfaction. Yet the fact that he was driving the notorious Queen of Sheba, before the eyes of all Nice, brought a satirical smile to his lips. “There would be a nice little scandal about, if either of us were attached,” he said. “It is comfortable not to have to bother about the proprieties.” “I consider this Bayswatery in its conventionality,” replied Minna. “If you look upon this as an adventure, I wonder what you’d think of anything really audacious.” “I am ready to commit any audacity. Name one.” She leaned back and twirled her parasol languishly. To see her face he had to turn his head. “I will kiss you now if you like, _coram publico_. You’re bewitching enough,” he said in his rough fashion. “The idea is unimaginative and--repulsive,” replied Minna. And she began to look idly at the sea. It was at its loveliest that afternoon, melting through all gradations from cobalt to pale turquoise, flecked with the rich tones of the brown Mediterranean sails, and meeting far ahead in a sapphire haze the dreamy stretch of the Cap d’Antibes. But Minna’s thoughts were far from its intoxicating beauty. She wished she had not come for this drive. This man was getting upon her nerves. She had half intended to lash him with ridicule and set him adrift. But she lacked courage. In his last admiring glance she had read that which made her fear. Her nervousness began to grow hysterical, especially after the lapse of some minutes during which he had not spoken. “Do say something,” she said at last, irritably. “I thought you were absorbed in the poetry of nature,” he replied. “You Englishmen are so heavy. You were scandalised at meeting a crowd of shady foreigners at my house last night. They can talk amusingly. That’s why.” “An Englishman generally acts, which is better,” said Gerard.