no because he wanted to hear Marie's
impressions of his adored one without delay, confident that they would
be favourable; Angelo, because since their marriage he and his wife had
not been parted for a single hour. This was the first sign Marie had
shown of wishing to assert independence.

"Are you sure you're not saying this for my sake?" Angelo inquired
anxiously. "I don't want to hang about Monte Carlo. I----"

"It will do you good to have a little change," she said. Then she
flashed him a meaning, intimate glance which he thought that he
interpreted, and therefore raised no more objections. Her eyes seemed to
say: "I have a reason. I'll explain to you when we're alone. It has
something to do with your brother."

"Come and dine with us if you care to, Vanno," she went on. "Or if you
have an engagement with Miss Grant, spin over in a taxi for coffee and a
few minutes' chat afterward. That is, if you'd like to hear how
beautiful and altogether perfect I think she is--and make some plan
about bringing her to Cap Martin--sooner or later."

Vanno explained that he was to dine at the Winters, but would accept for
the "chat," with great pleasure. Dinner was early at the chaplain's. He
would leave at eight-thirty, and then go back again for a quarter of an
hour, to bid Miss Grant farewell.

He leaned suddenly from the window just in time to direct his brother's
chauffeur, and the car pulled up before the ugly square building which
Rose Winter called a "quadrupedifice." Angelo sprang out, helping Marie
to alight with as much care and tenderness as if she might break with a
rough touch. Next came the parting at the door; and Vanno smiled to see
how Marie lingered with her hand in her husband's. They had as many last
words to say to each other as if Angelo were to be absent for three
days, although he was assuring her--with needless insistence--that even
if he looked into the Casino he would certainly be back long before
dinner.

The two men watched the Princess begin to mount the stairs, before they
turned away. Then, leaving the car at the door as Marie had wished, they
walked off together in the direction of the Hotel de Paris.

"Idina Bland called yesterday on Marie," Angelo said abruptly, with a
slight suggestion of constraint in his voice. "It was--rather a surprise
to me. I supposed she was in America."

"Diavolo! She is still here, then?"

"Still? Did you know she was on the Riviera?"

"I knew she came--week