to make her debut at the Opera House to-night. Your husband has been
seen with her repeatedly. He was at her villa at one o'clock this
morning. I have heard it said that he is a little infatuated."

"Thank you," she murmured, "that is quite enough."

The formalities were concluded and the car drove on. They paused at the
last turn to gaze downward at the wonderful view--the gorgeous Bay of
Mentone, a thousand feet below, with its wealth of mimosa-embosomed
villas; Monte Carlo glittering on the sea-board; the sweep of Monaco,
red-roofed, picturesque. And behind, the mountains, further away still,
the dim, snow-capped heights. Violet looked, as she was bidden, but her
eyes seemed incapable of appreciation. When the car moved on, she leaned
back in her seat and dropped her veil. She was paler even than when they
had started.

"I am going to talk to you very little," he said gravely. "I want you
just to rest and breathe this wonderful air. If my reply to your
question troubles you, I am sorry, but you had to know it some day. It
is a wrench, of course, but you must have guessed it. Your husband is a
man of peculiar temperament, but no man could have refused such an offer
as you made him, unless there had been some special reason for it--no
man in the world."

There was a little tremble in his tone, artistic and not overdone.
Somehow, she felt that his admiration ministered to her self-respect.
She permitted his hand to remain upon hers. The touch of her fingers
very nearly brought the torrent from his lips. He crushed the words
down, however. It was too great a risk. Very soon things would be
different; he could afford to wait.

They drove on to San Remo and turned into the hotel.

"You are better away from Monte Carlo for a few hours," he decided. "We
will lunch here and drive back afterwards. You will feel greatly
refreshed."

She accepted his suggestion without enthusiasm and with very little show
of pleasure. They found a table on the terrace in a retired corner,
surrounded with flowering cactus plants and drooping mimosa, and
overhung by a giant oleander tree. He talked to her easily but in
gossiping fashion only, and always with the greatest respect. It was not
until the arrival of their coffee that he ventured to become at all
personal.

"Will you forgive me if I talk without reserve for a few moments?" he
began, leaning a little towards her. "You have your troubles, I know.
May I not remind you that you ar