Mademoiselle of Monte Carlo | Page 6

scantiness of which a year or two before
would have been voted quite beyond the pale for a lady, and yet in our
broad-minded to-day, the day of undressing on the stage and in the
home, it was nothing more than "smart."
Mother and daughter greeted the two men enthusiastically, and at Lady
Ranscomb's orders the waiter brought them small glasses of an aperitif.
"We've been all day motoring up to the Col di Tenda. Sospel is lovely!"
declared Dorise's mother. "Have you ever been there?" she asked of
Brock, who was an habitue of the Riviera.
"Once and only once. I motored from Nice across to Turin," was his
reply. "Yes. It is truly a lovely run there. The Alps are gorgeous. I like
San Dalmazzo and the chestnut groves there," he added. "But the
frontiers are annoying. All those restrictions. Nevertheless, the run to
Turin is one of the finest I know."
Presently they rose, and all four walked into the crowded /salle-a-
manger/, where the chatter was in every European language, and the
gay crowd were gossiping mostly of their luck or their bad fortune at
the /tapis vert/. At Monte Carlo the talk is always of the run of
sequences, the many times the zero-trois has turned up, and of how
little one ever wins /en plein/ on thirty-six.
To those who visit "Charley's Mount" for the first time all this is as
Yiddish, but soon he or she, when initiated into the games of roulette
and trente-et-quarante, quickly gets bitten by the fever and enters into

the spirit of the discussions. They produce their "records"-- printed
cards in red and black numbers with which they have carefully pricked
off the winning numbers with a pin as they have turned up.
The quartette enjoyed a costly but exquisite dinner, chatting and
laughing the while.
Both men were friends of Lady Ranscomb and frequent visitors to her
fine house in Mount Street. Hugh's father, a country landowner, had
known Sir Richard for many years, while Walter Brock had made the
acquaintance of Lady Ranscomb a couple of years ago in connexion
with some charity in which she had been interested.
Both were also good friends of Dorise. Both were excellent dancers,
and Lady Ranscomb often allowed them to take her daughter to the
Grafton, Ciro's, or the Embassy. Lady Ranscomb was Hugh's old friend,
and he and Dorise having been thrown together a good deal ever since
the girl returned from Versailles after finishing her education, it was
hardly surprising that the pair should have fallen in love with each
other.
As they sat opposite each other that night, the young fellow gazed into
her wonderful blue eyes, yet, alas! with a sinking heart. How could they
ever marry?
He had about six hundred a year--only just sufficient to live upon in
these days. His father had never put him to anything since he left
Brasenose, and now on his death he had found that, in order to recover
the estate, it was necessary for him to marry Louise Lambert, a girl for
whom he had never had a spark of affection. Louise was good- looking,
it was true, but could he sacrifice his happiness; could he ever cut
himself adrift from Dorise for mercenary motives--in order to get back
what was surely by right his inheritance?
Yet, after all, as he again met Dorise's calm, wide-open eyes, the grim
truth arose in his mind, as it ever did, that Lady Ranscomb, even
though she had been so kind to him, would never allow her only
daughter to marry a man who was not rich. Had not Dorise told him of

the sly hints her mother had recently given her regarding a certain very
wealthy man named George Sherrard, an eligible bachelor who lived in
one of the most expensive flats in Park Lane, and who was being
generally sought after by mothers with marriageable daughters. In
many cases mothers--and especially young, good-looking widows with
daughters "on their hands"--are too prone to try and get rid of them
"because my daughter makes me look so old," as they whisper to their
intimates of their own age.
After dinner all four strolled across to the Casino, presenting their
yellow cards of admission--the monthly cards granted to those who are
approved by the smug-looking, black-coated committee of inspection,
who judge by one's appearance whether one had money to lose.
Dorise soon detached herself from her mother and strolled up the
Rooms with Hugh, Lady Ranscomb and Brock following.
None of them intended to play, but they were strolling prior to going to
the opera which was beneath the same roof, and for which Lady
Ranscomb had tickets.
Suddenly Dorise exclaimed:
"Look over there--at that table in the corner. There's that remarkable