a life she had seen only in imagination;
and as her curious eyes drank in its details, she found herself almost
mechanically repeating in her mind the formula to which for the past
two months she had clung with passionate persistence.

"I _will_ live! I _will_ enjoy!"

For the two months this had been her philosophy. Unconsciously, it had
been her philosophy since the night in Paris, when, in one hour, her
castle of imagination had fallen about her feet, and she had stood, as
it were, houseless. In that brief space of time she had realised that
she had been inhabiting a fool's paradise. A fool's paradise! The name
had seemed curiously apt; and through the long, dark hours of that
hateful night her cheeks had burned as she recalled how she had peopled
her enchanted realm, while all the time its unconscious creator had
forgotten its creation--or remembered it only as one self-righteous act
among many. Lady Frances Hope was right! Deerehurst had been right!
Barnard had been right! Ideals were a mistake--things made to be
shattered, as hopes were made to be broken! To live--to live fully,
heedlessly, extravagantly--was the only wisdom. Gore had spoken truly!
She had been a fool. She had been wrong in supposing that she had a
debt to work off; on the contrary, life was her debtor. It was she who
had a score against life!

In this fever of mind, she had written the letters that sent Nance on
her interrupted journey to America; cancelled her invitation to her
aunt and cousin to stay with her in England; and set her own feet on
the road to the south. And in the weeks that followed, the same fever
had burned in her blood. During the preparations for the Riviera and
during the journey to Nice, she had been possessed by a frenzy of
energy. She had craved for incessant action and excitement with a
pertinacity that had seemed insatiable.

And in the crowded Casino at Monte Carlo she had at last attained her
object--she had at last succeeded in losing herself; there, day after
day, night after night, she had sat in the stifling, scented
atmosphere, listening to the incessant, significant click of gold and
silver, watching the artificial light glare down upon the hideously
artificial faces pressed in densely packed circles round the long green
tables. The place had fascinated her with its outward immobility, its
hidden sea of greedy passion. It was, she had fiercely told herself,
life!

After six weeks, Lady Frances Hope had an