uck.

"I'm rather tired, and my head aches a little," she said. "I think I'll
go home."

Eve rose also. "You call the Hotel de Paris 'home?'" she asked.

"I begin to feel quite at home," Mary answered. "I've been there nearly
three weeks, and it seems longer."

They walked together out of the bright room of the large decorative
picture called jestingly "The Three Disgraces," on through the Salle
Schmidt, and so to the atrium. "If you don't mind," said Lady Dauntrey,
"I'll go with you as far as your hotel. There's a hat in a shop round
the corner I've been dying for. Now, thanks to the luck you've brought
me, I shall treat myself to it, as a kind of Christmas present. You
know, day after to-morrow will be Christmas. Surely you'll be rather
lonely in your 'home' then, or have you friends who are going to take
you away for the day?"

"No," Mary replied, as they went down the steps of the Casino. "No one
has mentioned Christmas. I suppose people don't think as much about
celebrating Christmas here, where it's almost like summer. Besides, I
have very few friends."

"Haven't you made a good many acquaintances?"

"Not many. Four or five. One lady has called--I think she is the wife of
the chaplain of the Church of England--but I was out, and I haven't
returned her visit yet. One seems to have so little time here! And the
cure of Roquebrune, the village on the hill, has been--twice. I was out
both times. I'm always out, I'm afraid. But that reminds me, I must send
him a Christmas present for his church."

"I should be delighted if you'd dine with us on Christmas night," said
Lady Dauntrey, cordially. "Do! At eight o'clock. We have such a merry
party with us--all young, or if not young they feel so, which is the
true Christmas spirit."

"You're very kind----" Mary began; but suspecting hesitation, Lady
Dauntrey broke in. "That's settled, then. I'm _so_ pleased! And would
you care to go to a dance on Christmas eve?--a rather wonderful dance it
will be, on board a big yacht in the harbour. You must have noticed
her--_White Lady_ her name is--and she belongs to Mr. Samuel Holbein,
the South African millionaire. You've heard of him, of course. His wife
and daughter are on board, and they've begged me to bring as many girls
to the dance as I can, for there'll be a lot of men. You know there are
heaps more young men about here than there are girls--so unusual except
at Monte Carlo."

"A dance on a yacht!" Mary echoed. The