“Look at her,” Scorp commented with that biting little ha! ha! of his, which involved the greatest depths of critical sarcasm imaginable. “There she is. She’s lost her last louis and she’s looking for some one to pay for her dinner!” I had to smile to myself at the man’s croaking indifference to the lady’s beauty. Her obvious charms had not the slightest interest for him. Of another lovely creature who went by with her head held high and her lips parted in a fetching, coaxing way he observed, “She practises that in front of her mirror!” and finding nothing else to attack, finally turned to me. “I say, it’s a wonder you don’t take a cocktail. There’s your American bar.” “It’s the wrong time, Scorp,” I replied. “You don’t understand the art of cocktail drinking.” “I should hope not!” he returned morosely. Finally after much more criticism of the same sort Barfleur arrived, having lost ten louis, and we adjourned for tea. As usual an interesting argument arose now not only as to where we were to dine, but how we were to live our very lives in Monte Carlo. “Now I should think,” said Barfleur, “it would be nice if we were to dine at the Princess. You can get sole and _canard à la presse_ there and their wines are excellent. Besides we can’t drive to the Bella Riva every evening.” “Just as I thought!” commented Scorp bitterly. “Just as I thought. Now that we are staying at Bella Riva, a half hour or so away, we will dine in Monte Carlo. I knew it. We will do no such thing. We will go back to the Bella Riva, change our clothes, dine simply and inexpensively [this from the man who had just lost a thousand francs] come back here, buy our tickets for the _Cirque privé_ and gamble inside. First we go to Agay and spend a doleful time among a lot of peasants and now we hang around the outer rooms of the Casino. We can’t live at the Hôtel de Paris or enter the _Cirque privé_ but we can dine at the Princess. Ha! ha! Well, we will do no such thing. Besides, a little fasting will not do you any harm. You need not waste all your money on your stomach.” The man had a gay acidity which delighted me. Barfleur merely contemplated the ceiling of the lobby where we were gathered while Sir Scorp rattled on in this fashion. “I expected to get tickets for the _Cirque privé_--” he soothed and added suggestively, “It will cost at least twenty francs to drive over to the Bella Riva.” “Exactly!” replied Scorp. “As I predicted. We can’t live in Monte Carlo but we can pay twenty francs to get over to Cap Martin. Thank Heaven there are still street cars. I do not need to spend all my money on shabby carriages, riding out in the cold!” (It was a heavenly night.)