CHAPTER IX


"I suppose we'll meet by-and-by at dinner?" I said (I'm afraid rather
wistfully) to the chauffeur as he drove the car up a steep hill to the
door of La Reserve, on The Corniche.

"Well, no," he answered, "because you needn't fear anything disagreeable
here, and I'm going to stop at a less expensive place. You see, I pay my
own way, and as I really have to live on my screw, it doesn't run to
grand hotels. This one _is_ rather grand; but you will be all right,
because, although it's a famous place for food, at this season few
people stop overnight, and I've found out through the telephone that the
Turnours are the only ones who have taken bedrooms. That means you'll
have your dinner and breakfast by yourself."

"Oh, that will be nice!" I said, trying to speak as if I delighted in
the thought of solitude and reflection. "I wish I were paying my own
way, too; but I couldn't do it on fifty francs a month, could I?"

"Fifty francs a month!" he echoed, astonished. "Is that your
compensation for being a slave to such a woman? By Jove, it makes me hot
all over, to think that a girl like you should--"

"Well, this trip is thrown in as additional compensation," I reminded
him. "And thanks to you and your kindness, I believe I'm going to find