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“Roger,” said he, “I’m going with you and the Bellairs’ to-morrow.”

“I know that.”

“Miss Bellairs wants to go straight through to England without stopping anywhere.”

“She’ll have to want, I expect.”

“And I’ve promised to try and get the General to do what she wants.”

“Have you though?”

“I suppose, Roger, old fellow–you know you’ve great influence with him–I suppose it’s no use asking you to say a word to him?”

“Not a bit.”

“Why?”

“Because Maud particularly wants him to stay with us in Paris.”

“Oh, of course, if Lady Deane wishes it, I mustn’t say a word. She’s quite made up her mind about it, has she?”

“Well, I suppose so.”

“She’s strong on it, I mean? Not likely to change?”

“I think not, Charlie.”

“She’d ask him to stay, as a favor to her?”

“I shouldn’t at all wonder.”

“Oh, well then, my asking him won’t make much difference.”

“Frankly, I don’t see why it should.”

“Thanks. I only wanted to know. You’re not in a hurry, Roger? I mean, you won’t ask your wife to go straight on?”

“No, I shan’t, Charlie. I want to stop myself.”

“Thanks, old chap! See you at dinner,” and Charlie strolled off with a reassured air.

Sir Roger sat and thought.

“I see his game,” he said to himself at last, “but I’m hanged if I see hers. Why does she want to get back to England? Perhaps if I delay her as much as I can, she’ll tell me. Hanged if I don’t! Anyhow I’m glad to see old Charlie getting convalescent.”

The next morning the whole party left Cannes by the early train. The Bellairs, the Deanes, and Charlie Ellerton travelled together. Laing announced his intention of following by the afternoon train.

“Oh,” said Lady Deane, “you’ll get to Paris sooner than we do.” Dora looked gloomy; so did Charlie, after a momentary, hastily smothered smile.

The porter approached and asked for an address. They told him the Grand Hotel, Paris.

“If anything comes to-day, I’ll bring it on,” said Laing.

“Yes, do; we shall have no address before Paris,” answered General Bellairs.

They drove off, and Laing, feeling rather solitary, returned to his cigar. An hour later the waiter brought him two telegrams, one for Dora and one for Charlie, he looked at the addresses.

“Just too late, by Jove! All right, garcon, I’ll take ’em,” and he thrust them into the pocket of his flannel jacket. And when, after lunch, he could not stand the dullness any longer and went to Monte Carlo, he left the telegrams in the discarded flannels, where they lay till–the time when they were discovered. For Mr. Laing clean forgot all about them!

CHAPTER VI

A MAN WITH A THEORY

Even Miss Bussey was inclined to think that all had happened for the best. John’s eloquence had shaken her first disapprobation; the visible happiness of the persons chiefly concerned pleaded yet more persuasively. What harm, after all, was done, except for a little trouble and a little gossip? To these Mary and John were utterly indifferent. At first they had been rather shy in referring, before one another, to their loves, but custom taught them to mention the names without confusion, and ere long they had exchanged confidences as to their future plans. John’s arrangement was obviously the more prudent and becoming. He discountenanced Mary’s suggestion of an unannounced descent on Cannes, and persuaded her to follow his example and inform her lover that she would await news from him in Paris. They were to put up at the European, and telegrams there from Cannes would rind them on and after April 28th. All this valuable information was contained in the dispatches, which lay, with their priceless messages, on the said April 28th, in Mr. Arthur Laing’s flannel jacket, inside his portmanteau, on the way to Paris.

Paris claims to be the centre of the world, and if it be, the world has a very good centre. Anyhow Paris becomes, from this moment, the centre of this drama. Not only was Arthur Laing being whirled there by the Nice express, and Miss Bussey’s party proceeding thither by the eleven o’clock train from Victoria–Mary laughed as she thought it might have been her honeymoon she was starting on–but the Bellairs and their friends were heading for the same point. Miss Bussey’s party had the pleasanter journey; they were all of one mind; Miss Bussey was eager to reach Paris because it was the end of the journey; John and Mary desired nothing but the moment when with trembling fingers they should tear open their telegrams in the hall of the hotel. The expedition from the south did not enjoy a like unanimity; but before following their steps we may, in the interest of simplicity, land the first detachment safely at its destination.