The baron read the report attentively, especially a long postscript in which Selden’s name occurred, and nodded approval once or twice. Then he ordered his car, made a careful toilet and presently sallied forth to call upon Mrs. Davis in her villa at Cimiez; and, after a most satisfactory conversation with her, directed his chauffeur to proceed by the coast road to Monte Carlo.
Selden had declined Scott’s proffer of a lift back to his hotel.
“No, I’ll walk,” he said. “It will do me good.”
The moment had come when he must arrange his future—when he must decide what he was going to do. He felt that he must be alone, that he could not meet any of the actors in the drama—certainly not Madame Ghita—until that decision had been reached. And he was the prey of many and violent emotions, for he began to perceive that the decision might not rest wholly in his hands. Scott was a fool, of course, in thinking there was any chance for him; but at least he must make up his mind whether he should try to win her or whether he should flee.
It was evident that his only sure safety lay in flight; he could no longer trust himself; and he told himself again and again that he was a fool to hesitate. Yet to flee from such a woman—wasn’t that more foolish still? The thought of life with her turned him giddy, set his blood on fire....
But how could he support her? There was no admiring public ready to pay for the privilege of dining with a newspaper man! Even if he had been willing to accept life on such terms. And she would have to renounce the king’s bounty, for it was equally impossible for him to live on money acquired as that would be. But what right had he to ask her to do that? What had he to offer in return? No, he couldn’t do it! He must go away!
And then the memory of her eyes, of her voice, rent him anew. He was in love! He! In love!
He stood away and looked at himself with a sneer. What a pitiable object he had become!
Yes, he must go away—at once.