A rather insipid young prig was at first my companion, but presently I found myself beside old Mr. Keppel, who walked at my side far down the slope, till at last we came to the dark belt of olives which formed the boundary of his domain. Villas on the Riviera do not usually possess extensive grounds, but the Villa Fabron was an exception, for the gardens ran down almost to the well-known white sea-road that leads along from Nice to the mouth of the Var.
"How charming!" I exclaimed, as, turning back, we gazed upon the long terrace hung with Japanese lanterns, and the moving figures smoking, taking their coffee, and chattering.
"Yes," the old man laughed. "I have to be polite to them now and then; but after all, Miss Rosselli, they don't come here to visit me—only to spend a pleasant evening. Society expects me to entertain, so I have to. But I confess that I never feel at home among all these folk, as Gerald does."
"I fear you are becoming just a little world-weary," I said, smiling.
"Becoming? Why, I was tired of it all years ago," he answered, glancing at me with a serious expression in his deep-set eyes. It seemed as though he wished to confide in me, and yet dared not do so.
"Why not try a change?" I suggested. "You have the Vispera lying at Villefranche. Why not take a trip in her up the Mediterranean?"
"No," he sighed. "I hate yachting, for I have nothing on board wherewith to occupy my time. After a couple of days I always go ashore at the nearest port. The trip round from Portsmouth here each winter is always a misery to me."
"And you keep such a beautiful craft idle!" I observed, in a tone of reproach.
"You've seen it?"
"Yes, Gerald took us on board a few days ago, and showed us over. It's like a small Atlantic liner."