The Princess Passes

								

"However, there is still Monte Carlo."
"Shall you drown your sorrows in roulette?" asked Molly, looking
horrified.
"Who knows?"
"Don't let her misjudge you," cut in Jack. "Have you forgotten what I
told you about the Italian Countess, Molly?"
"Oh, the Countess with whom Lord Lane used to flirt at Davos before he
met Miss Blantock? Now I see. You said that you were going to Monte
Carlo, on purpose to make Helen Blantock jealous."
"I'm afraid some spiteful idea of the sort was in my mind," I
admitted. "But the Countess is fascinating, and if she would be kind,
Monte Carlo might effect a cure of the heart, as Davos did of the
lungs."
"I believe you're capable of marrying for pique. Oh, if I could prove
to you that you aren't, and never have been, in love with Helen!"
"It would be difficult."
"I'll engage to do it, if you'll take my prescription."
"What is that?"
"Cheerful society and amusement. In other words, Jack's and my
society, and a tour on our motor car."
"What, make a discord in the music of your duet?"
"Dear old boy, we want you," said Jack.
I was grateful. "I can't tell how much I thank you," I answered. "But
I'm in no mood for companionship. The fact is, I'm stunned for the
moment, but I fancy that presently I shall find out I'm rather hard
hit."
"No, you won't, unless you mope," broke in Molly. "On the contrary,
you'll feel it less every day."
"Time will show," said I. "Anyhow, I must dree my own weird--whatever
that means. I don't know, and never heard of anyone who did, but it
sounds appropriate. I should like to do a walking tour alone in the
desert, if it were not for the annoying necessity to eat and drink. I
want to get away from all the people I ever knew or heard of--with the
exceptions named."
"One would think you were the only person disappointed in love!"
exclaimed Molly. "Why, I have a friend who has really suffered. Dear
little Mercédès----"
Mrs. Winston stopped suddenly, drawing in her breath. She looked
startled, as if she had been on the point of betraying a state secret;
then her eyes brightened; she began abstractedly to trace a leaf on
the damask tablecloth. "I have thought of just the thing for you," she
said, apparently apropos of nothing. "Why don't you buy or hire a mule
to carry your luggage, and walk from Switzerland down into Italy, not
over the high roads, but do a pass or two, and for the rest, keep to
the footpaths among the mountains, which would suit your mood?"
"The mule isn't a bad scheme," I replied. "A dirty man is an
independent animal, but a clean man, or one whose aim is to be clean,
is more or less helpless. If he has a weakness for a sponge bag, a
clean shirt or two, and evening things to change into after a long
tramp, he must go hampered by a caravan of beasts."
"One beast would do," said Molly practically, "unless you count the
muleteer, and that depends upon his disposition."