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Updated: May 19, 2025
With them were the Comte d'Autun, an elegant young Frenchman, well known at the tables, and Madame Tavera, a very chic person who was one of the most admired visitors of that season. They were only idling and watching the players at the end table, where a stout, bearded Russian was making some sensational coups en plein. Presently Hugh succeeded in getting Dorise alone.
"I do forgive you because you speak the truth," Dorise replied. "I know that mother wants me to marry a rich man, and " "And she will compel you to do so, darling. I am convinced of that." "She won't!" cried the girl. "I will never marry a man I do not love!" "Your mother, if she doesn't suspect our compact, will soon do so," he said. "She's a clever woman.
"Your mother has not asked me over to Nice to-night because she believes you and I have been too much together of late." "No," declared Dorise. "I'm sure it's not that, Hugh I'm quite sure! It's simply an oversight. I'll see about it when we get back. We leave the hotel at half-past nine. It is the great White Ball of the Nice season."
The Count, who was a bad dancer, collided with a slim, well-dressed French girl, but did not apologize. "Oh! la la!" cried the girl to her partner, a stout figure in Mephistophelian garb. "An exquisitely polite gentleman that, mon cher Alphonse! I believe he must really be the Pork King from Chicago eh?" The Count heard it, and was furious. Dorise, however, said nothing.
"I went out to see the Muirs, at Forteviot, and when I got back he told me he had just had a telegram telling him that it was imperative he should be in town to-morrow morning. I tried to persuade him to stay, but he declared it to be impossible." "An appointment with a lady, perhaps," laughed Dorise mischievously. "What next, my dear! You know he is over head and ears in love with you!" "Oh!
Benton, a few months later, was sentenced to forced labour for fifteen years, while his accomplice, Molly Bond, received a sentence of ten years. Only one case that of jewel robbery was, however, proved against her. Dorise, about six weeks after Mademoiselle Yvonne's explanation, met her in London, and there she and Hugh became reconciled.
They turned the corner by the Palais des Beaux Arts into the Boulevard Peirara. "Let's walk out of the town," he suggested to the girl. "I'm tired of the place." "So am I, Hugh," Dorise admitted. "For the first fortnight the unceasing round of gaiety and the novelty of the Rooms are most fascinating, but, after that, one seems cooped up in an atmosphere of vicious unreality.
The great mystery of it all was why Hugh should have gone deliberately and clandestinely to the Villa Amette on the night of the tragic affair. Dorise was really an expert in casting a fly; also she excelled in several branches of sport. She was a splendid tennis-player, she rode well to hounds, and was very fair at golf.
True, she was very sweet and possessed more than the ordinary chic and good taste in dress. Yet he felt that he could never fulfil his dead father's curious desire. He could never marry her never! On his way out of London, Hugh had made excuse and stopped the car at a post office in Putney, whence he sent an express note to Dorise, telling her his change of address.
"I would not address it," remarked the other girl. "It will be safer blank, for I shall give it into his hand." And ten minute later the mysterious girl departed, leaving Dorise to reflect over the curious encounter. So Hugh was in Malines. She went to the telephone, rang up Walter Brock, and told him the reassuring news. "In Malines?" he cried over the wire.
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