She could look across at the lights already beginning to twinkle at Monte Carlo, to the white yachts lying off Monaco, and farther along the coast to a little cluster of lights that stood for Beaulieu. "It is glorious," she said, drawing a long breath. Mrs. Cole-Mortimer, who had accompanied her in her stroll, purred the purr of the pleased patron whose protégée has been thankful for favours received. Dinner was a gay meal, for Jean was in her brightest mood. She had a keen sense of fun and her sly little sallies, sometimes aimed at her father, sometimes at Lydia's expense, but more often directed at people in the social world, whose names were household words, kept Lydia in a constant gurgle of laughter. Mrs. Cole-Mortimer alone was nervous and ill at ease. She had learnt unpleasant news and was not sure whether she should tell the company or keep her secret to herself. In such dilemma, weak people take the most sensational course, and presently she dropped her bombshell. "Celeste says that the gardener's little boy has malignant smallpox," she almost wailed. Jean was telling a funny story to the girl who sat by her, and did not pause for so much as a second in her narrative. The effect on Mr. Briggerland was, however, wholly satisfactory to Mrs. Cole-Mortimer. He pushed back his chair and blinked at his "hostess." "Smallpox?" he said in horror, "here--in Cap Martin? Good God, did you hear that, Jean?" "Did I hear what?" she asked lazily, "about the gardener's little boy? Oh, yes. There has been quite an epidemic on the Italian Riviera, in fact they closed the frontier last week." "But--but here!" spluttered Briggerland. Lydia could only look at him in open-eyed amazement. The big man's terror was pitiably apparent. The copper skin had turned a dirty grey, his lower lip was trembling like a frightened child's. "Why not here?" said Jean coolly, "there is nothing to be scared about. Have you been vaccinated recently?" she turned to the girl, and Lydia shook her head. "Not since I was a baby--and then I believe the operation was not a success." "Anyway, the child is isolated in the cottage and they are taking him to Nice to-night," said Jean. "Poor little fellow! Even his own mother has deserted him. Are you going to the Casino?" she asked. "I don't know," replied Lydia. "I'm very tired but I should love to go." "Take her, father--and you go, Margaret. By the time you return the infection will be removed." "Won't you come too?" asked Lydia. "No, I'll stay at home to-night. I turned my ankle to-day and it is rather stiff. Father!" This time her voice was sharp, menacing almost, thought Lydia, and Mr. Briggerland made an heroic attempt to recover his self-possession. "Cer--certainly, my dear--I shall be delighted--er--delighted." He saw her alone whilst Lydia was changing in her lovely big dressing-room, overlooking the sea. "Why didn't you tell me there was smallpox in Cap Martin?" he demanded fretfully.