r. It had been one of those half-conscious whims which may be
assigned to no positive cause. Besides, no sensible man would have
accepted such a challenge. She knew men tolerably well: after thirty
they cease to follow visions; they seek tangible things. . . . No, they
must never meet again. It would not be wise. Her heart, lonely,
disappointed, galled as it were by disillusion, might not withstand much
storming. And she had no wish to add this irretrievable folly to the
original blunder. Too late, too late! Decidedly they must not meet
again. She was afraid.

The red rim of the sun sank quickly now, and the sea turned cold and
deeply blue, and the orange-tinted sails grew drab and lonely. And with
the sun the brightness of her dream went out. Would she never cast out
the life which was false, though colorful and fantastic? Would she never
accept real life, dull and sober? Romance? She was always seeking it,
knowing right well that it was never to be found. Romance! Had it not
led her into this very pit from which only death could release her? This
impossible vein was surely the legacy of some far ancestor, some knight
of the windmills, not of her father and mother, both so practical, so
wise, so ambitious. Ah, she thought in her heart, had they but lived to
see the folly of what they believed to be wisdom!

No, they must go their separate ways till the end. When she was old she
would re-read his letters. With a sigh she rose and went into the room.
Kitty was busy with the finishing touches of her toilet. Kitty was not
vain; she was only pretty. The older woman kissed her fondly.

"Pretty Kitty Killigrew!" she said. "It is positively lyrical."

"And do you realize that you are the most beautiful woman in the world?"

"Little flatterer!"

"And if I were a man--" Kitty paused.

"Well, and if you were a man?"

"I'd fall in love with you and marry you." La Signorina looked into the
mirror.

CHAPTER XIV

GREY VEILS

The fascination of Monte Carlo is not to be described; it must be seen.
Vice shall be attractive, says the Mother of Satan. At Monte Carlo it is
more than attractive; it is compelling. A subtle hypnotism prevails. One
scarce realizes that this lovely spot is at the same time the basest.
What passions have stormed this cliff! What rage and despair have beaten
their hands against these bastions of pleasure! How few who plunge into
this maelstrom of chance ever rise again! The lure of gold, ther