"Good Lord!" said he, aghast, as if she were accusing him of criminal
associations. "I have no friends."

"Then come."

She entered the carriage. He followed meekly and sat beside her. Where
should they drive? The cabman suggested the coast road to Mentone. She
agreed. On the point of starting she observed that her companion was
bare-headed.

"You've forgotten your hat."

She spoke to him as she would have done to a child.

"Why bother about hats?"

"You'll catch your death of cold. Go and get it at once."

He obeyed with a docility which sent a little tingle of exaltation through
Mrs. Middlemist. A woman may have an inordinate antipathy to men, but she
loves them to do her bidding. Zora was a woman; she was also young.

He returned. The cabman whipped up his strong pair of horses, and they
started through the town towards Mentone.

Zora lay back on the cushions and drank in the sensuous loveliness of the
night--the warm, scented air, the velvet and diamond sky, the fragrant
orange groves--the dim, mysterious olive trees, the looming hills, the
wine-colored, silken sea, with its faint edging of lace on the dusky sweep
of the bay. The spirit of the South overspread her with its wings and took