Rosemary: A Christmas story

								

"She would have liked the auto," he said to himself. And then, a moment
later, "I wonder why I came?"
It was a perfect Riviera day. Everybody in Monte Carlo who was not in
the Casino was sauntering on the terrace in the sun; for it was that
hour before luncheon when people like to say, "How do you do?--How nice
to meet you here!" to their friends.
The young man from far away had not, so far as he knew, either enemies
or friends at Monte Carlo. He was not conscious of the slightest desire
to say "How do you do?" to any of the pretty people he met, although
there is a superstition that every soul longs for kindred souls at
Christmas time.
He had not been actively unhappy before he left the Hotel de Paris and
strolled out on the terrace, to have his first sight of Monte Carlo by
daylight. Always, there was the sore spot in his heart, and often it
ached almost unbearably at night, or when the world hurt him with its
beauty, which he must see without Her; but usually he kept the spot
well covered up; and being healthy as well as young, he had cultivated
that kind of contentment which Thoreau said was only desperate
resignation in disguise. He took an interest in books, in politics, and
sport and motor cars, and a good many other things; but on the terrace,
the blue of the sea; the opal lights on the mountains; the gold glint of
oranges among green, glittering leaves; the pearly glimmer of white
roses thrown up like a spray against the sky, struck at his heart, and
made the ache come back more sharply than it had for a long time.
If he had been a girl, tears would have blinded his eyes; but being what
he was, he merely muttered in anger against himself, "Hang it all, what
a wretched ass I am," and turning his back on the sea, made his way as
fast as he could into the Casino.
It was close upon twelve o'clock, and the "Rooms" had been open to the
public for two hours. The "early gamblers" thronging the Atrium to wait
till the doors opened, had run in and snatched seats for themselves at
the first tables, or marked places to begin at eleven o'clock, if
crowded away from the first. Later, less ardent enthusiasts had strolled
in; and now, though it was not by any means the "high season" yet, there
were rows of players or lookers on, three deep round each table.
The young man was from the South--though a South very different from
this. He had the warm blood of Virginia in his veins, and just so much
of the gambler's spirit as cannot be divided from a certain recklessness
in a man with a temperament. He had seen plenty of life in his own
country, in the nine years since he was twenty, and he knew all about
roulette and trente et quarante, among other things desirable and
undesirable.
Still, gambling seemed to be made particularly fascinating here, and he
wanted to be fascinated, wanted it badly. He was in the mood for the
heavy hush of the Rooms, for the closeness, and the rich perfumes, which