Richard was impressed.

"Gee!" he exclaimed. "The sort of thing that one reads about, eh, and
only half believes. Who's the French Johnny who arrived last night?"

"Douaille. He's the coming President, they say. I'm thinking of paying
him a visit of ceremony this afternoon."

There was a knock at the door. A waiter entered with a note upon a
salver.

"From Madame, monsieur," he announced, presenting it to Hunterleys.

The latter tore it open and read the few lines hastily:

_Dear Henry_,

If you could spare a few minutes, I should be glad if you would
come round to my apartment.

Yours,
VIOLET.

Hunterleys twisted the note up in his fingers.

"Tell Lady Hunterleys that I will be round in a few moments," he
instructed the servant.

Richard took up his stick and hat.

"If you have an opportunity," he said, "ask Lady Hunterleys what she
thinks about a little party on the yacht. If one could get the proper
people together--"

"I'll tell her," Hunterleys promised. "You'd better wait till I get
back."

He made his way to the other wing of the hotel. For the first time since
he had been staying there, he knocked at the door of his wife's
apartments. Her maid admitted him with a smile. He found Violet sitting
in the little salon before a writing-table. The apartment was
luxuriously furnished and filled with roses. Somehow or other, their
odour irritated him. She rose from her place and hastened towards him.

"How nice of you to come so promptly!" she exclaimed. "You're sure it
didn't inconvenience you?"

"Not in the least," he replied. "I was only talking to Richard Lane."

"You seem to have taken a great fancy to that young man all at once,"
she remarked.

Hunterleys was sitting upon the arm of an easy-chair. He had picked up
one of Violet's slippers and was balancing it in his hand.

"Oh, I don't know. He is rather refreshing after some of these people.
He still has enthusiasms, and his love affair is quite a poem. Aren't
you up rather early this morning?"

"I couldn't sleep," she sighed. "I think it has come to me in the night
that I am sick of this place. I wondered--"

She hesitated. He bent the slipper slowly back, waiting for her to
proceed.

"The Draconmeyers don't want to go," she went on. "They are here for
another month, at least. Linda would miss me terribly, I suppose, but I
have really given her a lot of my time. I have spent several hours with
her every da