“Poor old dear! How she must have regretted it subsequently!” said Lord Montycute. “My sister was there at the same time, and paid twenty pounds a night for the luxury of sleeping in the hotel omnibus. Nothing would induce her to go to bed indoors. The hotel was cracked from top to bottom!”
“I don’t care for the Riviera,” remarked Lady Rachel. “It’s too hot, and the scenery is ridiculously gaudy. It always reminded me of a drop-scene. I declare to you, sitting on a promenade, facing the blue sea and blue sky, and pale, buff promontories and palms, with a band playing in the neighbourhood, I have felt as if I was in the stalls of a theatre.”
“Oh, shame!” cried Mrs. Leach. “You have no feeling for the beauties of Nature.”
“I thought Monte Carlo lovely—the garden too exquisite for words.”
“And the tables?” inquired Mr. West significantly.
“Yes, I had my own pet table; and at first I was successful. I always went on the ‘doz-ens,’ or ‘passe.’ One day I made ninety pounds in an hour; but, alas! I lost it all in about ten minutes.”
“The tables always do win in the long run,” said Mr. West, sententiously.
“Yes,” agreed Lord Montycute, “they have no feeling, no emotions. When they gain they are not excited; when they lose they are not depressed; and this is their advantage.”
“Oh, but they cannot leave off if they are losing,” cried Lady Rachel. “We score there.”
“You did not score, at any rate,” remarked Mrs. Leach, with a smile.