right to say 'I told you so,' Mrs. Winston. There was
nothing in all that, you know, except a little wounded vanity; and you
know, _you_ are really the Fate I have to thank for finding it out so
soon."

"What _do_ you mean?" exclaimed Molly, almost as if she were
frightened. "I did nothing at all. I----"

"You took me away with you and Jack. The rest followed."

"Oh, _that_. I didn't understand. Well, as we shall get you down to
Monte Carlo soon, you will meet your boy again."

"I wish I could be sure."

"I thought you said it was an engagement."

"Only conditional. Besides, had we walked, we should have been weeks
on the way. I wonder you don't laugh in my face, Mrs. Winston, but
you'd understand if you could have met the Boy."

"I supposed Jack was your best friend," complained Molly.

"So he is. But this is different. I'm going to look for the Boy at
Monte Carlo. What I'm hoping is, that after all he may keep the
half-engagement he made to meet me there."

"When?"

"On the night after my arrival for a dinner at the Hotel de Paris, to
be given in honour of him and his sister."

"You think he will?"

"It's worth going on the chance."

"You are the right kind of friend," said Molly, "and you deserve to
be rewarded, doesn't he, Jack?"

"Yes," Jack flung over his shoulder as he drove; "and I shall swear a
vendetta against everybody concerned, if he isn't."

This did not strike me as a particularly brilliant remark, but Molly
seemed to find it witty, for she laughed merrily, with a certain
impish ring in her glee, reminiscent of the Little Pal in some moods.
Evidently she had exhausted her long list of questions, for, laughing
still, she twisted her slim body half round in the tonneau, turning a
shoulder upon us. I took this as a signal that Mercedes was now to
have her share of attention, and tactfully bestowed mine on Jack.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXVIII

The World without the Boy

"A . . . somewhat headlong carriage."
--R.L. STEVENSON.

Though I had given Molly eyes and ears during her long catechism, I
had been vaguely aware, nevertheless, that on leaving the Hotel de
France we had crossed a bridge over the almost dry and pebbly bed of
the insignificant Leysse; that we had passed the stately elephants,
and a robust marble lady typifying France in the act of receiving on
her breast a slender Savoie; that we had caught a last glimpse of the
chateau, and were