But the restlessness always came again.
And, after the end of the first year, it grew worse. I was never happy
for more than a few hours together. Still I meant to fight till the end.
I never thought seriously of giving it up."
"Until after I came?" Peter broke in.
"Oh, I was happier for a while after you came. You took my mind off
myself."
"And turned it to _my_self, or, rather, to the world I lived in. I'm
glad, yes, I'm glad, I was in time, and yet--oh, Mary, you _won't_ go to
Monte Carlo, will you?"
Mary stopped short in her walk, and turned to face Peter.
"Why do you say that?" she asked, sharply. "What can make you think of
Monte Carlo?"
"Only, you seemed so interested in hearing me tell about staying with
father at Stellamare, my cousin's house. You asked me such a lot of
questions about it and about the Casino, more than about any other
place, even Rome. And you looked excited when I told you. Your cheeks
grew red. I noticed then, but it didn't matter, because you were going
to live here always, and be a nun. Now----"
"Now what does it matter?" the novice asked, almost defiantly. "Why
should it occur to me to go to Monte Carlo?"
"Only because you were interested, and perhaps I may have made the
Riviera seem even more beautiful and amusing than it really is. And
besides--if it should be true, what your father was afraid of----"
"What?"
"That you inherit his love of gambling. Oh, I couldn't bear it, darling,
to think I had sent you to Monte Carlo.
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