I know of but one place so
delightful in summer, and that is the castle of Count Polinski, in
the Ural Mountains."
"I hear that Baden-Baden and Cannes are almost deserted this season,"
said Farrington. "Year by year the old resorts fall in disrepute.
Perhaps many others, like ourselves, are seeking out the quiet nooks
that are overlooked by the majority."
"I promise myself three days more of this delicious rest," said
Madame Beaumont. "On Monday the _Cedric_ sails."
Harold Farrington's eyes proclaimed his regret. "I too must leave on
Monday," he said, "but I do not go abroad."
Madame Beaumont shrugged one round shoulder in a foreign gesture.
"One cannot hide here forever, charming though it may be. The chateau
has been in preparation for me longer than a month. Those house
parties that one must give--what a nuisance! But I shall never forget
my week in the Hotel Lotus."
"Nor shall I," said Farrington in a low voice, "and I shall never
FORGIVE the _Cedric_."
On Sunday evening, three days afterward, the two sat at a little
table on the same balcony. A discreet waiter brought ices and small
glasses of claret cup.
Madame Beaumont wore the same beautiful evening gown that she had
worn each day at dinner. She seemed thoughtful. Near her hand on the
table lay a small chatelaine purse. After she had eaten her ice she
opened the purse and took out a one-dollar bill.
"Mr. Farrington," she said, with the smile that had won the Hotel
Lotus, "I want to tell you something.
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