The wave had got her and was bearing her along. She tried to catch at
safety.
"But--Lord Dauntrey must stay in Monte Carlo--till to-morrow. And I have
to go to-night," she stammered. "I don't quite see----"
"You're going alone?" Eve asked.
"Yes."
"How queer of the Princess Della Robbia to let you do that!"
"She doesn't know." The girl defended Marie.
"Doesn't know where you're going?"
"No." Mary felt obliged to explain. "I was--vexed at something that
happened to-day. So I--finished my visit sooner than I expected."
"Oh! And does your friend Mrs. Winter approve?"
"She doesn't know, either. She's at Nice for the day, with her husband."
"Surely somebody must know what you're doing. Your own Prince Vanno?"
Mary shrank a little from the familiar name on lips that had no right
to it; yet she answered gently: "Even he doesn't know. He's in Rome; but
perhaps you've heard. It was in the paper, Marie--Princess Della Robbia
told me. I shall write to him, of course."
"Of course. Meanwhile, you seem to be--sneaking off the stage when
nobody's looking." Lady Dauntrey laughed a staccato laugh at her own
rather lumbering joke.
"Nobody but you and Lord Dauntrey, as it happens."
"Well," Eve began to speak slowly, as if on reflection, "I'm sure you
must have some wise reason for what you're doing, dear; but whatever it
is, I can't help thinking it will be a very good thing for you to have
us with you. You're too young and pretty to be running about by
yourself, and going to stay in lonesome villas.
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