But to-night he was tired.

'I am deeply flattered by your solicitude,' he said, 'but I assure you that it was misplaced. Had the world held no other consolation, your unseen presence . . .'

She laughed, so merry, surprising and frank a laugh that it completely disconcerted him.

'Come, come,' she cried. 'You hadn't the least idea that I was sitting here. And you know perfectly well that I didn't really think you were going to jump off the balcony. I spoke to you because I was bored. I've lost my shirt already today, so I can't play any more. I only bring down so much money with me to the rooms, and when that's gone, I just sit. But to-night it's too early to go home to bed, and none of my friends are here. So . . .'

To excuse himself from further effort, Basil invited the lady into the bar to have a cocktail. She rose with alacrity and stepped before him into the lighted room. He knew then that he had often seen her at the tables, for she was unmistakable, a large magnificently built brunette, with warm brown colouring and mobile eye-brows. Basil, who understood such things, guessed that she wore her gown low, painted her face, and tinted her fingernails merely because to do otherwise would have seemed an affectation. She followed exaggerated fashions because she was natural and sensible. As she went, she turned once and smiled at Basil over her shoulder, without coquetry, but with experienced and friendly understanding.

They drank cocktails together at the bar. They talked about Cannes, and roulette, and the heat. Basil drove her back to her hotel, a non-committal place in the Boulevard des Moulins. She told him that her name was Gloria Calmier, that she was the widow of a French officer, and that she adored bathing. They met the next day at the Casino, and the next, and the next.

§3

Their frequent encounters suggested to the Syndicate that Basil was attracted by Madame Calmier. Wing Stretton told everyone that St. Denis was having an affair with a rich French widow, but when he attempted to tease Basil according to the accepted convention of their circle, he was surprised by the ferocity of his secretary's repudiation.

'That woman?' cried Basil. 'Heavens! I can't escape her. I go to the Casino and she is there. I go to the Hotel de Paris and she is there. I go down to the beach and she is there, arising from the waves like a slightly over-ripened

Aphrodite. If I take the wings of the morning and fly to the uttermost parts of the earth, she will be there also, dying to tell me a perfectly screaming limerick about a young lady called Hilda who had an affair with a builder.'

He mimicked with such observant malice Madame Calmier's deep, laughing voice that Wing Stretton accepted his derision as bona fide evidence of his untroubled heart, and left him alone to avoid his own entanglements.

But Basil did not tell Wing Stretton the other confidences which Madame Calmier had entrusted to him, though they were infinitely more amusing than the limerick about the young lady called Hilda. For Madame Calmier had no inhibitions.