details,
except a general white muslin filminess. But Terry and I had not much
chance to observe the third billow. Our attention was caught by the
first glittering rush of pink and emerald spray.

Out of it a voice spoke--an American voice; and then, with a lacy whirl,
a parasol rose like a stage curtain. The green wave was a lady; a
marvellous lady. The pink wave was a child with a brown face, two long
brown plaits, and pink silk legs, also pink shoes.

"We've come in answer to X. Y. Z.'s advertisement in this morning's
_Riviera Sun_. Now which of you two gentlemen put it in?" began the
lady, with gay coquetry which played over each of us in turn. Oh yes,
she was wonderful. She had hair of the brightest auburn that ever
crowned a human head. It was done in undulations, with a fat ring in the
middle of her forehead, between two beautifully arched black eyebrows.
Her skin was very white, her cheeks were very pink, and her lips were
very coralline. Everything about her was "very." Out of a plump face,
with a small nose that turned up and a chin which was over-round, looked
a pair of big, good-natured, nondescript-coloured eyes, and flashed a
pair of pleasant dimples. At first glance you said "a stout girl of
twenty-five." At the second, you were not sure that the lady wasn't ten
years older. But her waist was so slender that she panted a little in
coming up the path, though the path was by no means steep, and her heels
were so high that there was a suspicion of limp in her walk.

Even to me the lady and her announcement gave a shock, which must have
doubled its effect upon Terry. I was collecting my forces for a reply
when the little brown girl giggled, and I lost myself again. It was only
for an instant, but Terry basely took advantage of that instant in a way
of which I would not have believed him capable.

"You must address yourself to my friend, Sir Ralph Moray," said the
wretched fellow glibly. "His are the car and the title mentioned in the
advertisement of _The Riviera Sun_, which he owns."

My title indeed! A baronetical crumb flung to my father because of a
service to his political party. It had never done anything for me,
except to add ten per cent to my bills at hotels. Now, before I could
speak a word of contradiction, Terry went on. "I am only Mr. Barrymore,"
said he, and he grinned a malicious grin, which said as plainly as
words, "Aha, my boy, I think _that_ rips your little scheme to
smithereens, eh?"