saunterers. It was the height of the Monte Carlo season and the feathers
and diamonds and rouge and greedy eyes and rusty bonnets of all nations
confused the sight and paralyzed thought. Yet among all the women of both
worlds Zora Middlemist stood out remarkable. As Septimus Dix afterwards
explained, the rooms that evening contained a vague kind of conglomerate
woman and Zora Middlemist. And the herd of men envied the creature on whom
she smiled so graciously.

She was dressed in black, as became a young widow, but it was a black
which bore no sign of mourning. The black, sweeping ostrich plume of a
picture hat gave her an air of triumph. Black gloves reaching more than
halfway up shapely arms and a gleam of snowy neck above a black chiffon
bodice disquieted the imagination. She towered over her present companion,
who was five foot seven and slimly built.

"You've brought me all this stuff, but what am I to do with it?" he asked
helplessly.

"Perhaps I had better take care of it for you."

It was a relief from the oppressive loneliness to talk to a human being; so
she lingered wistfully in conversation. A pathetic eagerness came into the
man's face.

"I wish you would," said he, drawing a handful from his jacket pocket. "I
should be so much happier."

"You can hardly be such a gambler," she laughed.

"Oh, no! It's not that at all. Gambling bores me."