over all unflecked by clouds.

It took her breath away, the beauty of it; and the sense and genial
warmth of it. The trees laden with lemons, the wisteria on the walls,
the white dust on the road, and the glory of the golden mimosa that
scented the air with its rare and lovely perfume.

They left the train at Nice and drove along the Grande Corniche. Mrs.
Cole-Mortimer had a call to make in Monte Carlo and the girl sat back in
the car and drank in the beauty of this delicious spot, whilst her
hostess interviewed the house agent.

Surely the place must be kept under glass. It looked so fresh and clean
and free from stain.

The Casino disappointed her--it was a place of plaster and stucco, and
did not seem built for permanent use.

They drove back part of the way they had come, on to the peninsula of
Cap Martin and she had a glimpse of beautiful villas between the pines
and queer little roads that led into mysterious dells. Presently the car
drew up before a good looking house (even Mrs. Cole-Mortimer was
surprised into an expression of her satisfaction at the sight of it).

Lydia, who thought that this was Mrs. Cole-Mortimer's own demesne, was
delighted.

"You are lucky to have a beautiful home like this, Mrs. Cole-Mortimer,"
she said, "it must be heavenly living here."

The habit of wealth had not been so well acquired that she could realise
that she also could have a beautiful house if she wished--she thought of
that later. Nor did she expect to find Jean Briggerland there, and Mr.
Briggerland too, sitting on a big cane chair on the veranda overlooking
the sea and smoking a cigar of peace.

Mrs. Cole-Mortimer had been very careful to avoid all mention of Jean on
the journey.

"Didn't I tell you they would be here?" she said in careless amazement.
"Why, of course, dear Jean left two days before we did. It makes such a
nice little party. Do you play bridge?"

Lydia did not play bridge, but was willing to be taught.

She spent the remaining hour of daylight exploring the grounds which led
down to the road which fringed the sea.

She could look across at the lights already beginning to twinkle at
Monte Carlo, to the white yachts lying off Monaco, and farther along the
coast to a little cluster of lights that stood for Beaulieu.

"It is glorious," she said, drawing a long breath.

Mrs. Cole-Mortimer, who had accompanied her in her stroll, purred the
purr of the pleased patron whose protegee has been thank