ished his wine and rose to his feet. Once more the smile
encompassed his face. Of what account, after all, were the wanderings of
this melancholy Englishman! There was mademoiselle's bracelet to be
bought, and perhaps a few flowers. Selingman pulled down his waistcoat
and accepted his grey Homburg hat from the vestiaire. He held
mademoiselle's fingers as they descended the stairs. He looked like a
school-boy of enormous proportions on his way to a feast.

"We drank to Monte Carlo in champagne," he declared, as they turned on
to the terrace and descended the stone steps, "but, dear Estelle, we
drink to it from our hearts with every breath we draw of this wonderful
air, every time our feet touch the buoyant ground. Believe me, little
one, the other things are of no account. The true philosophy of life and
living is here in Monte Carlo. You and I will solve it."

CHAPTER III

A WARNING

Hunterleys dined alone at a small round table, set in a remote corner of
the great restaurant attached to the Hotel de Paris. The scene around
him was full of colour and interest. A scarlet-coated band made
wonderful music. The toilettes of the women who kept passing backwards
and forwards, on their way to the various tables, were marvellous; in
their way unique. The lights and flowers of the room, its appointments
and adornments, all represented the last word in luxury. Everywhere was
colour, everywhere an almost strained attempt to impress upon the
passerby the fact that this was no ordinary holiday resort but the giant
pleasure-ground of all in the world who had money to throw away and the
capacity for enjoyment. Only once a more somber note seemed struck when
Mrs. Draconmeyer, leaning on her husband's arm and accompanied by a
nurse and Lady Hunterleys, passed to their table. Hunterleys' eyes
followed the little party until they had reached their destination and
taken their places. His wife was wearing black and she had discarded the
pearls which had hung around her neck during the afternoon. She wore
only a collar of diamonds, his gift. Her hair was far less elaborately
coiffured and her toilette less magnificent than the toilettes of the
women by whom she was surrounded. Yet as he looked from his corner
across the room at her, Hunterleys realised as he had realised instantly
twelve years ago when he had first met her, that she was incomparable.
There was no other woman in the whole of that great restaurant with her
air of q