ng in the place would
be like always breathing perfume or eating spice.

We had finished dinner, and Jimmy was paying the bill (I couldn't help
seeing that it was of enormous length), when the scraping of chairs
behind us advertised that a new party had arrived at the table back of
ours. A noisy, loud-talking party it was--all men, by the voices, and
one of those voices sounded remotely familiar. The owner of it seemed to
be telling an amusing story, which had been interrupted by entering the
restaurant and taking seats. "Well, she simply jumped at it like a trout
at a mayfly," the man was saying, as I sat wondering where I'd heard the
voice before. "I couldn't help feeling a bit of a beast to impose on
Yankee innocence. But all's fair in love and motor-cars. This was the
most confounded thing ever designed; a kind of ironmonger's shop on
wheels. And the girl was deuced pretty----"

The word "motor-car" brought it all back, and in a flash I crossed
Europe from the restaurant in Monte Carlo to the village hotel at
Cobham. I looked round and into the face of Mr. Cecil-Lanstown.

Aunt Mary looked too, for the bill was paid, and we were getting up to
go. Our eyes met in the midst of his sentence; the man half rose, but
dropped down again with a silly smile, and I gave him one of those
elaborate glances that begin with a person's boots and work slowly up to
the necktie. Just as we were sweeping past Aunt Mary said in a loud
aside to me, "Did you ever _see_ such a creature? And I took him for a
duke." I think he heard.

In the Casino gardens we saw the moon rise out of the sea, and never
shall I forget the glory of it. But just the very beauty of everything
made me feel sad. So stupid of me. I really don't think I can be well
lately. I must take a tonic or a nerve pill. We went back to Nice for
the night, and next morning we drove to Mentone, where I decided that I
would rather stay for a long time than anywhere else on the Riviera. It
is just the sweetest, dearest little picture-place, with the natural,
country peacefulness that others lack, and yet there's all the gaiety
and life of a town. We drove to it along the upper road, which is almost
startlingly magnificent. I asked Brown to go slowly, so that we might
sip the scenery instead of bolting it. Though the Napier could have gone
romping up the steep road out of Nice to the Observatory, and on to
quaint La Turbie, I chose a pace of six or seven miles an hour, often
s