ful for favours
received.

Dinner was a gay meal, for Jean was in her brightest mood. She had a
keen sense of fun and her sly little sallies, sometimes aimed at her
father, sometimes at Lydia's expense, but more often directed at people
in the social world, whose names were household words, kept Lydia in a
constant gurgle of laughter.

Mrs. Cole-Mortimer alone was nervous and ill at ease. She had learnt
unpleasant news and was not sure whether she should tell the company or
keep her secret to herself. In such dilemma, weak people take the most
sensational course, and presently she dropped her bombshell.

"Celeste says that the gardener's little boy has malignant smallpox,"
she almost wailed.

Jean was telling a funny story to the girl who sat by her, and did not
pause for so much as a second in her narrative. The effect on Mr.
Briggerland was, however, wholly satisfactory to Mrs. Cole-Mortimer. He
pushed back his chair and blinked at his "hostess."

"Smallpox?" he said in horror, "here--in Cap Martin? Good God, did you
hear that, Jean?"

"Did I hear what?" she asked lazily, "about the gardener's little boy?
Oh, yes. There has been quite an epidemic on the Italian Riviera, in
fact they closed the frontier last week."

"But--but here!" spluttered Briggerland.

Lydia could only look at him in open-eyed amazement. The big man's
terror was pitiably apparent. The copper skin had turned a dirty grey,
his lower lip was trembling like a frightened child's.

"Why not here?" said Jean coolly, "there is nothing to be scared about.
Have you been vaccinated recently?" she turned to the girl, and Lydia
shook her head.

"Not since I was a baby--and then I believe the operation was not a
success."

"Anyway, the child is isolated in the cottage and they are taking him to
Nice to-night," said Jean. "Poor little fellow! Even his own mother has
deserted him. Are you going to the Casino?" she asked.

"I don't know," replied Lydia. "I'm very tired but I should love to go."

"Take her, father--and you go, Margaret. By the time you return the
infection will be removed."

"Won't you come too?" asked Lydia.

"No, I'll stay at home to-night. I turned my ankle to-day and it is
rather stiff. Father!"

This time her voice was sharp, menacing almost, thought Lydia, and Mr.
Briggerland made an heroic attempt to recover his self-possession.

"Cer--certainly, my dear--I shall be delighted--er--delighted."

He saw her alone whilst