Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo | Page 4

them herself. It gives me an intense joy which even a normal
man could scarcely be expected to understand; certainly not you. I am
sorry that I cannot humour you."
He leaned towards her.
"Not if I beg you?"
She looked at him fixedly, looked at him as though she searched for
something in his face, or was pondering over something in his tone. It
was a moment which might have meant much. If she could have seen
into his heart and understood the fierce jealousy which prompted his
words, it might have meant a very great deal. As it was, her
contemplation appeared to be unsatisfactory.
"I am sorry that you should lay so much stress upon so small a thing,"
she said. "You were always unreasonable. Your present request is
another instance of it. I was enjoying myself very much indeed until
you came, and now you wish to deprive me of one of my chief
pleasures. I cannot humour you."

He turned away. Even then chance might have intervened. The moment
her words had been spoken she realised a certain injustice in them,
realised a little, perhaps, the point of view of this man who was still her
husband. She watched him almost eagerly, hoping to find some sign in
his face that it was not only his stubborn pride which spoke. She failed,
however. He was one of those men who know too well how to wear the
mask.
"May I ask where you are staying here?" he enquired presently.
"At the Hotel de Paris."
"It is unfortunate," he observed. "I will move my quarters to-morrow."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Monte Carlo is full of hotels," she remarked, "but it seems a pity that
you should move. The place is large enough for both of us."
"It is not long," he retorted, "since you found London itself too small. I
should be very sorry to spoil your holiday."
Her eyes seemed to dwell for a moment upon the Spanish dancer who
sat at the table opposite them, a woman whose name had once been a
household word, dethroned now, yet still insistent for notice and
homage; commanding them, even, with the wreck of her beauty and the
splendour of her clothes.
"It seems a queer place, this," she observed, "for domestic
disagreements. Let us try to avoid disputable subjects. Shall I be too
inquisitive if I ask you once more what in the name of all that is
unsuitable brought you to such a place as Monte Carlo?"
He fenced with her question. Perhaps he resented the slightly ironical
note in her tone. Perhaps there were other reasons.
"Why should I not come to Monte Carlo?" he enquired. "Parliament is
not particularly amusing when one is in opposition, and I do not hunt.

The whole world amuses itself here."
"But not you," she replied quickly. "I know you better than that, my
dear Henry. There is nothing here or in this atmosphere which could
possibly attract you for long. There is no work for you to do--work, the
very breath of your body; work, the one thing you live for and were
made for; work, you man of sawdust and red tape."
"Am I as bad as all that?" he asked quietly.
She fingered her pearls for a moment.
"Perhaps I haven't the right to complain," she acknowledged. "I have
gone my own way always. But if one is permitted to look for a moment
into the past, can you tell me a single hour when work was not the
prominent thought in your brain, the idol before which you worshipped?
Why, even our honeymoon was spent canvassing!"
"The election was an unexpected one," he reminded her.
"It would have been the same thing," she declared. "The only literature
which you really understand is a Blue Book, and the only music you
hear is the chiming of Big Ben."
"You speak," he remarked, "as though you resented these things. Yet
you knew before you married me that I had ambitions, that I did not
propose to lead an idle life."
"Oh, yes, I knew!" she assented drily. "But we are wandering from the
point. I am still wondering what has brought you here. Have you come
direct from England?"
He shook his head.
"I came to-day from Bordighera."
"More and more mysterious," she murmured. "Bordighera, indeed! I
thought you once told me that you hated the Riviera."

"So I do," he agreed.
"And yet you are here?"
"Yet I am here."
"And you have not come to look after me," she went on, "and the
mystery of the little brown man who watches me is still unexplained."
"I know nothing about that person," he asserted, "and I had no idea that
you were here."
"Or you would not have