knack of
choosing such fellow-creatures as would be benefited, morally, by the
operation. But she was a check upon his more reckless moods, and kept
him from one or two outrageous pranks.

For his part, he found the responsibility of looking after her and
Elsie not a little sobering; and he was quite alive to the fact that at
Monte Carlo, that place of call of the adventurers of the world, one's
womankind need a protecting male presence. Quietly and unobtrusively
Sir Tancred seconded him in this matter; if Dorothy had the fancy to
take the air in the gardens after dinner, she found that he or Lord
Crosland, or both of them, deserted the tables till she went back to
the hotel, and strolled with her and the children. She was growing
very friendly with the two men, and beginning to take a far deeper
interest in Sir Tancred than she would have cared to admit even to
herself. His face of Lucifer, Son of the Morning, his perfect
thoughtfulness, his unfailing gentle politeness, his melancholy and his
very coldness, attracted her; and always watching him, she had now and
again a glimpse of the possibilities of energy and passion which
underlay the mask of his languor. At times, too, her woman's intuition
assured her that, for all his dislike, or rather distaste, of women,
she attracted him.

Unfortunately, but naturally, Sir Tancred and Lord Crosland were not
the only men who found her beautiful. Monsieur le Comte Sigismond de
Puy-de-Dome, hero of many duels and more scandals, and darling of the
Nationalist Press, also saw her beauty. With him to see was to act,
and he never passed her without a conquering twirl of his waxed
moustache, and a staring leer which he fondly believed to be a glance
teeming with passion. Since even he, conscious as he was of his
extraordinary fascination, could hardly mistake her look of annoyance
for the glow of responsive passion, he resolved on more masterly
action. He kept a careful watch, and one afternoon followed her and
Tinker and Elsie on one of their walks. They went briskly, and at the
end of a mile he was maintaining a continuous, passionate monologue in
tones charged with heartfelt emotion on the subject of his tight but
patent-leather boots.

A mile and a half on the way to Mentone they turned aside down a road
into the hills. He followed them for a while over the loose stones and
along the ruts of the roadway with considerable pain, and was on the
very point of abandonin