er not talk any more about it. Can't we just let it go on as
it is a little while?"

"It suits me," smiled Monte. "So maybe I'm selfish, too."

"Maybe," she nodded. "Now I'll see about your breakfast. The doctor
told me just what you must have."

So she went out--moving away like a vision in dainty white across the
room and out the door. A few minutes later she was back again with a
vase of red roses, which she arranged upon the table where he could see
them.

CHAPTER VIII

DRAWBACKS OF RECOVERY

Monte's recovery was rapid--in many ways more rapid than he desired.
In a few days Nurse Duval disappeared, and in a few days more Monte was
able to dress himself with the help of the hotel valet, and sit by the
window while Marjory read to him. Half the time he gave no heed to
what she was reading, but that did not detract from his pleasure in the
slightest. He liked the sound of her voice, and liked the idea of
sitting opposite her.

Her eyes were always interesting when she read. For then she forgot
about them and let them have their own way--now to light with a smile,
now to darken with disapproval, and sometimes to grow very tender, as
the story she happened to be reading dictated.

This was luxury such as Monte had never known, and for more than ten
years now he had ordered of the world its choicest in the way of luxury.

At his New York club the experience of many, many years in catering to
man comfort was placed at his disposal. As far as possible, every
desire was anticipated, so that little more effort was required of him
than merely to furnish the desires. In a house where no limit whatever
had been set upon the expense, a hundred lackeys stood ready to jump if
a man as much as raised an eyebrow. And they understood, those
fellows, what a man needs--from the chef who searched the markets of
the world to satisfy tender tastes, to the doorman who acquainted
himself with the names of the members and their personal idiosyncrasies.

That same service was furnished him, if to a more limited extent, on
the transatlantic liners, where Monte's name upon the passenger list
was immediately passed down the line with the word that he must have
the best. At Davos his needs were anticipated a week in advance; at
Nice there had been Edhart, who added his smiling self to everything
else.

But no one at his club, on the boat, or at Davos--not even Edhart--had
given him this: this being the somewhat vagu