Then Ermengarde decided on Hyères, for scenery, good air, and romantic associations; and, having penned her letter to Cook, heard from one whose pilgrimage had been to that shrine, that there was absolutely nothing to do at Hyères and no society whatever, and that the climate and also that of Costebelle was positively murderous. Why not try San Remo or Alassio? or Pegli, with the advantage of being practically at Genoa? Each of these being in turn decided on, some dreadful defect in each was in turn discovered. Everybody Ermengarde knew had been everywhere and knew everything about it, and as each had entirely different views of every place, it was a little bewildering to an unbiased mind.
Bordighera was at last chosen, as being a place of palms, and associated with Ruffini's charming story, Dr. Antonio. Then it turned out that Bordighera was the windiest spot in Europe, and absolutely without shelter, and that the palms, being tied up like lettuces for the market, were an abomination of desolation; besides, crossing the frontier involved another custom-house worry, and the loss of an hour at Ventimiglia.
So at last Mentone, chosen more than once from rapturous reports of friends and the charm of Bennett's description in his Mediterranean book, and more than once abandoned on account of dismal tales of bad sanitation, heat, damp, and relaxing air, was finally decided upon—a stern and unanimous family veto having been pronounced against both Monte Carlo and Monaco—and a seat booked ten days in advance.
"A seat," Ermengarde observed with a deep sigh of content; "rather an exquisite boudoir"—"'Artistically furnished and decorated,'" her husband muttered—"with a most luxurious sofa, little tables, and every comfort, and 'through the window a moving panorama of lovely, sunlit scenery.' How restful! With books, papers, letters to write, when the outlook palls. All the comfort of a private room in a first-class hotel, with no stairs and constant change of scene. I could travel for weeks in such circumstances. The only trouble is the fellow-traveller. How nice it would be to be able to take two places!"
Female friends urged the necessity of summer frocks and shady hats; Arthur was strong upon furs and wraps. Monte Carlo would involve great splendour of evening toilette, and summer hues and textures by day. Tailor-mades by artists of renown would be chic, but only of superfine faced-cloth, so Herbert said, quoting with the pride of recent knowledge from the Queen, while as to hats—
"Don't speak of them. My wife is like Mr. Toots, who, you remember, was fond of waistcoats," interposed Arthur; "she has a weakness for hats."
"Out of compassion to you, to give you something to sneer at," she flashed out, bit her lips, and turned the subject, while Arthur, dumbfounded, and cudgelling his brains to discover the rock of his offence, remembered the five discarded hats, and fumed with annoyance.
Victoria at eleven in the morning, when some ruddy gold sunbeams were struggling through clinging folds of mist, presented a lively spectacle, something between an Ascot day and a cheap excursion. Shepherded by men in and out of livery and lady's-maids engaging in fierce combat with porters and guards, fur-clad dames of high and low degree, decked with flowers, and with fur-coated squires to match them, sailed majestically in the path of advancing towers of luggage, and impeded progress in every direction by standing in picturesque groups at the doors of carriages, or exactly in front of moving crowds, to exchange inane smiles, minute bows and meaningless small talk, impervious to the hoarse shouts of hot and panting porters, stonily unconscious of civil requests from fellow-travellers looking for hat-boxes, friends, trunks, mistresses, hand-baggage, servants, and such oddments, in the hurrying melée among toppling towers of trunks.
"Half London and the whole of the suburbs seem to be going by the twelve-fifty boat," Ermengarde said, unmoved by all this hurry and confusion in the happy security of a corner seat facing the engine, and booked by Cook. She was glad that Arthur was unable to see her off, he having had an unexpected business call to one of the South Coast summer resorts, she had forgotten which, the day before, so that only Herbert, her mother, and some half-dozen intimate friends, were saying good-bye and preventing her from looking after her luggage.
"Look here, there's some mistake about this ticket," cried Herbert presently, emerging from an arduous and prolonged struggle all down the long train and back again. "No seat is booked for you in this train, but at last I've found an empty corner, if you come quick before it's snapped up."