When the motor launch had landed them upon the slip, and puffed fussily
away again, Hannaford steadied Mary's steps with a hand on her arm. It
was not until they were on the pavement, and facing up the hill that
leads from the Condamine to higher Monte Carlo, that she spoke. "Oh, I
ought to have left word for Lady Dauntrey!" she exclaimed.
"I thought of that," Hannaford quietly answered. "I wrote on a card that
you had a headache and I was taking you home."
"Thank you," Mary said, mechanically. As soon as she had heard the words
she forgot them, and let her thoughts rush back to the arena of their
martyrdom. Hannaford took her hand and laid it on his arm. She allowed
it to rest there, depending unconsciously on the support he gave. They
did not speak again until they had reached the top of the hill, turned
the corner, and arrived at the steps of the Hotel de Paris.
Because Lady Dauntrey had chosen to make a late entrance on the scene,
it was after midnight now, though Mary and Hannaford had come away
comparatively early from the dance. The Casino was shut, but Christmas
eve festivities were going on in the restaurant, as well as in the
brilliantly lit Moorish Cafe de Paris on the opposite side of the
_Place_. Mary's longing for peace and quiet in "coming home" was jarred
out of her mind by the gay music and lights, and sounds of distant
laughter which seemed to have followed her mockingly from the yacht. But
they brought her out of herself; and standing on the lowest step she
thanked Hannaford for all that he had done.
Pages:
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271