"Dear Miss Boundrish, I _am_ so sorry," cried Ermengarde, suddenly dropping her handkerchief, her terrors, and her precautions, and putting a caressing arm round the sobbing figure on the bed. "We didn't mean it--at least, not more than a quarter of it. It was more than half in joke. And if you hadn't been rude to poor Mrs. Lamb--that put us up--and then we were carried away--forgot ourselves--everybody went one better than everybody else--you know how it is in a game like that. Think no more about it." "But you do-do-do-don't--think me quite--such a--bib-bib-bibby--beast?" "Certainly not," firmly and decisively. "A scrik-scrik-screech-owl?" she sobbed; "a bun-bun-bun-bundle of aff-fec-fec-fectation? So-so-so-soulless----" "Not in the least, dear child. It was all put on--at least, half was--just our fun. We knew you were a spoilt child, and wanted to give you a lesson, that was all. You are very young, my dear." Then poor Dorris, touched more by the voice than the words, threw herself into Ermengarde's arms, confessed some of her sins, and acknowledged herself--after consenting to a cup of tea, made on the spot and administered by Ermengarde, and much petting, rose-water and eau-de-Cologne--a sadder, a humbler, and a wiser girl. But her place at table knew her no more, and the familiar gurgle and strident voice never again troubled the air of Les Oliviers. A few days later her parents followed her to Cannes; Dorris, they said, required younger and gayer society. Chapter XX The Necklace Again "After all," Ivor said, as he walked with the Anarchist through the gardens of the Casino, now sleeping with doubled magic under a starry sky, "this isn't such a beastly hole. I've had a ripping time altogether." De Konski looked at the bright-eyed, smiling face in amazed curiosity, touched with pity. He thought the look directed towards the lighted Casino somewhat wistful, and reflected that only an hour or two and the sumptuous farewell dinner they had just had at Giro's together divided this light-hearted youth from the despairing and perverse prodigal of the afternoon. The storm that had rushed up in a moment in indigo shadow from behind Bordighera had not passed more quickly than this young man's anguish and inward conflict. "Thanks to you, I've come through this rotten business without a scratch," the laughing lips added. "If only----" "If only?" echoed the Anarchist. "Ah! well for you that your word is given. Nothing short of that would keep you straight--off that rock." "Oh, that's all right, thanks to you." "And to no one else, Ivor? That was a long talk in the gardens this afternoon." "Oh well, we had been teaing at Rumpelmayer's with that pretty little Mrs. Allonby--awfully jolly little woman--" "Eh? what?" growled the Anarchist, an angry flame in his eye. "--She's in an awful hole, that little woman. Turned out of her hotel, and can't find fresh quarters anywhere. I was recommending Villa Gilardoni."