Selden wondered what interest this youth could possibly have in the king’s restoration—just his friendship with the prince, no doubt. It was evident that he had been drinking too much—just enough too much to flush his face and loosen his tongue. He could not be over twenty, and in spite of his good looks, there was something in his mouth and chin which spoke of weakness and self-indulgence. And it was also plain that his inhibitions to indiscreet utterance were not as strong as they should have been.
Selden was well aware that nothing is more revealing of a man’s character than a glass of champagne too much. It loosens the tongue of the weak man—the ordinary man; breaks down his reserve and prods him on to talk carelessly and boastfully, to prove his importance at whatever cost. But with the strong man the effect is quite the contrary; he grows more guarded with every glass—the result, perhaps, of breeding, of wisdom gained by experience. At any rate, in vino veritas does not work with him.
But young Davis was not at all of this class. It was plain that he had neither breeding nor experience; and Selden told himself that a boy like that should be at work, or at least in college, not lounging in the Monte Carlo Sporting Club with no one to look after him.
“The thing I particularly object to in the baron,” went on Davis, reverting to his original grievance after the manner of slightly tipsy men, “is that he seems to think I need a guardian.”
On this point Selden thoroughly agreed with the baron, but he didn’t say so.
“In what way?” he inquired.
“Oh, he’s all the time trying to keep the prince away from me—seems to be afraid to leave us alone together! Good gad, if he only knew!” and he chuckled to himself.
“Are you staying here?” Selden asked, to change the subject. He had some scruples about encouraging champagne confidences.
“No; we’ve got a villa over at Cimiez—just above Nice, you know. But I’m over here a good part of the time. Dingy place, Nice, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do.”