hat most
sheltered nook of the Italian Riviera had eaten and gossiped and
flirted, and gone back to their villas and hotels. Dull persons found no
place in Lady Heyburn's circle. Most of the people were those she knew
in London or in Paris, including a sprinkling of cosmopolitans, a
Russian prince notorious for his losses over at the new _cercle_ at
Cannes, a divorced Austrian Archduchess, and two or three well-known
diplomats.

"Dear old Henry" remained, of course, at Glencardine, as he always did.
Lady Heyburn looked upon her winter visit to that beautiful villa
overlooking the calm sapphire sea as her annual emancipation. Henry was
a dear old fellow, she openly confided to her friends, but his
affliction made him terribly trying.

But Jimmy Flockart, the good-looking, amusing, well-dressed idler, was
living down at the "Savoy," and was daily in her company, driving,
motoring, picnicking, making excursions in the mountains, or taking
trips over to "Monte" by the _train-de-luxe_. He had left the villa
early in the afternoon, returned to his hotel, changed his smart
flannels for a tweed suit, and, taking a stout stick, had set off alone
for his daily constitutional along the sea-road in the direction of that
pretty but half-deserted little watering-place, Ospedaletti.

Straight before him, into the unruffled, tideless sea, the sun was
sinking in all its blood-red glory as he went at swinging pace along the
white, dusty road, past the _octroi_ barrier, and out into the country
where, on the left, the waves lazily lapped the grey rocks, while upon
the right the fertile slopes were covered with carnations and violets
growing for the markets of Paris and London. In the air was a delightful
perfume, the freshness of the sea in combination with the sweetness of
the flowers.

A big red motor-car dashed suddenly round a corner, raising a cloud of
dust. An American party were on their way from Genoa to the frontier
along the Corniche, one of the most picturesque routes in all the world.

James Flockart had no eyes for beauty. He was too occupied by certain
grave apprehensions. That morning he had walked in the garden with Lady
Heyburn, and had a long chat with her. Her attitude had been peculiar.
He could not make her out. She had begged him to promise to leave San
Remo, and when asked to tell the reason of this sudden demand she had
firmly refused.

"You must leave here, Jimmy," she had said quite calmly. "Go down to
Ro