The girls established themselves in a small hotel opposite the Casino Gardens, the men in the great hotel that lies between the Casino and the International Sporting Club. “I suppose we really should have sent for Lady Gower,” said Ora, doubtfully, as they hooked each other up for dinner. “It’s stretching the point rather to come to a place like Monte Carlo with two men. We’ll be sure to run into a dozen people we know.” “Oh, bother! I love the idea of feeling real devilish for once. Besides, anything goes at Monte Carlo, and everybody is interested in gambling and nothing else. What good would old Norfolk-Howard do us, anyhow, asleep on a sofa. She never could keep awake after ten, and nobody’d know in those big rooms whether she was there or not. We’re Americans, anyhow, and I’m having the time of my life. Lord John is a perfect dear.” “Well, at least I am thankful that you are no longer in a hurry to return to Butte.” “Butte’ll keep, I guess. The more experiences I take back the more they’ll think of me. Gives me backbone to feel a real woman-of-the-world. Besides, kid, it’s good philosophy to drink the passing moment dry. Amalgamated may bust us any minute. You look prettier every day, and I’m not going off either.” She wore a severely cut gown of black velvet, the corsage draped with coral-coloured chiffon. Her first evening gowns, cut by the ruthless Parisian, had caused her many qualms but they had been growing more _décolleté_ ever since; and so superb were her neck and shoulders that she had ceased to regret her lack of jewels. Ora had refrained from buying any, although she longed for sapphires; but she always wore her pearls. Tonight her gown was of a misty pale green material from which she rose like a lily from its calyx. She still wore her hair massed softly on the top of her head, and although not as tall as Ida, and far from being as fully developed, was an equally arresting figure. No two women were ever more excellent foils, and that may have been one secret of their amicable relations.