I responded in the affirmative. Truth to tell, I was glad of that opportunity to escape from scenes which daily reminded me of the man whom I loved. Ulrica knew it, but she was careful to avoid all further mention of the grief that was wearing out my heart. We sailed from New York, duly landed in Liverpool a week later, and the same night found ourselves at the Hotel Cecil in London. I knew little of the English metropolis, but we discovered some friends of Ulrica’s living out at South Kensington, and the month we passed in the city of smoke and fog--for it was November--was quite the reverse of dreary. I had always believed London to be a sad second edition of New York, but was agreeably surprised at the many nice people we met in the circle into which Ulrica’s friends introduced us. In continuation of our pilgrimage we went to Paris, and after a month there went South. We were in the salon of the Grand Hotel at Nice on the night of our arrival when suddenly someone uttered my name. We both turned quickly, and to our surprise saw two men we knew quite well in Washington standing before us. One was Reginald Thorne, a dark-haired, more than usually good-looking youth of about twenty-two or so, while the other was Gerald Keppel, a thin, fair-mustached young man some seven years his senior, son of old Benjamin Keppel, the well-known Pittsburg millionaire. Gerald was an old friend, but the former I knew but slightly, having met him once or twice at dances, for in Washington he was among the chief of the eligibles. “Why, my dear Miss Rosselli!” he cried enthusiastically as we shook hands, “I’m so awfully glad to meet you. I had no idea you were here. Gerald was here dining with me, and we caught sight of you through the glass doors.” “Then you’re staying here?” I exclaimed. “Yes, Gerald’s staying with his gov’nor. He has a villa out at Fabron. Have you been here long?” “We’ve arrived in Nice to-day,” interposed Ulrica, “and we haven’t found a single soul we knew until now. I feel sure you’ll take pity upon our loneliness, Mr. Thorne, won’t you?” “Of course,” he laughed. “I suppose you go to Monte?” “You men think of nothing but roulette and dinners at the Paris,” she responded reproachfully, adding: “But after all, should we be worse if we had no soul for gambling? Have you had any luck this season?” “Can’t complain,” he smiled. “I’ve been staying over there ten days or so. Gerald has had quite a run of good fortune. The other night he won the maximum on the zero-trois three times.” “Congratulations, my dear Gerald,” exclaimed Ulrica approvingly. “You shall both take us over one day and let us try our fortune--if Mr. Thorne is agreeable?” “Delighted, I’m sure,” answered the latter, glancing at me, and by the look he gave me I felt convinced that my suspicions aroused in Washington about a year before were not quite groundless,--in brief, that he admired me. CHAPTER II TELLS SOMETHING ABOUT LOVE