“But I’ve been there,” broke in Lady Rachel; “and I shall never go again, on account of the earthquakes, although it was capital fun at the time.” “Fun!” repeated Mr. West, with a look of amazement. “Yes, half the refugees were running about in blankets fastened with hairpins, afraid to return for their clothes. Oh, they were too absurd! A whole train full went to Paris in their dressing-gowns--some in bare feet. Every one was different--‘out of themselves,’ as they say in France. One old lady, in her mad excitement in speeding some relations, actually tore off her wig and waved it after them.” “Poor old dear! _How_ she must have regretted it subsequently!” said Lord Montycute. “My sister was there at the same time, and paid twenty pounds a night for the luxury of sleeping in the hotel omnibus. Nothing would induce her to go to bed indoors. The hotel was cracked from top to bottom!” “I don’t care for the Riviera,” remarked Lady Rachel. “It’s too hot, and the scenery is ridiculously gaudy. It always reminded me of a drop-scene. I declare to you, sitting on a promenade, facing the blue sea and blue sky, and pale, buff promontories and palms, with a band playing in the neighbourhood, I have felt as if I was in the stalls of a theatre.” “Oh, shame!” cried Mrs. Leach. “You have no feeling for the beauties of Nature.” “I thought Monte Carlo lovely--the garden too exquisite for words.” “And the tables?” inquired Mr. West significantly. “Yes, I had my own _pet_ table; and at first I was successful. I always went on the ‘doz-ens,’ or ‘passe.’ One day I made ninety pounds in an hour; but, alas! I lost it all in about ten minutes.” “The tables always _do_ win in the long run,” said Mr. West, sententiously. “Yes,” agreed Lord Montycute, “they have no feeling, no emotions. When they gain they are not excited; when they lose they are not depressed; and this is their advantage.” “Oh, but they cannot leave off if they _are_ losing,” cried Lady Rachel. “We score there.” “_You_ did not score, at any rate,” remarked Mrs. Leach, with a smile. “No; I wish I _had_ left off. There is Mrs. Raymond Tufto. Did you see her at Nice, Madeline?” “Oh yes; she went everywhere.” “She is wearing that same flower toque. I _am_ so sick of it,” cried Mrs. Veryphast, impatiently. “Nevertheless she is one of the prettiest women in London,” observed Captain Vansittart. “She has such a saintly expression, and she looks so _good_.” “She is a horribly heartless wretch. She goes off for months on the Continent, and leaves her children to nurses at home,” said Lady Rachel, viciously. “She has one dear little tot of two, that actually does not know her by sight.” “It is quite the French fashion to board out babies,” remarked Mrs. Leach, who was invariably in opposition to Lady Rachel. “Turn them out to walk like young hounds,” drawled Captain Vansittart.