“Second opportunities, like second thoughts, are better than first,” said I.  “I shall he delighted to take the second opportunity of meeting Miss Mercedes—­by the way, what is her other name?  You always seemed to take it for granted that I knew; but if it was ever mentioned in the summer, I’ve forgotten.”

“You should be ashamed to admit that you could deliberately and stoically forget a charming young lady’s name, and you don’t deserve to have your memory jogged.  You shall be told the heiress’s name when you meet her, and not before.”

“I must possess my soul in patience until to-morrow, then,” I replied, “for to me one pal in the bush is worth twenty heiresses in the hand, and I am now going out to scour the said bush.”

“Which means the Casino, no doubt.”

“I shall stroll in, when I’ve got rid of the dust.  The Rooms are the place to come across people.”

“All right, gang your ain gait, my son, and I suppose I must wish you luck.  Daresay we shall see each other before bedtime.”

A few hours later, I was walking down through the gardens, on my way to the Casino.  The young grass, sown last month, had already become green velvet, and the flowers were as fresh as if they had been created an hour ago.  The air smelled of La France roses and orange blossoms, though I saw neither.  Some pretty Austrian girls were walking about in muslin frocks and gauzy hats, though by this time, in England, women were putting on their fur boas in deference to autumn; and a few days ago I had been lost in a snowstorm on a middle-sized mountain of Savoie.

As I drew near to the big white Casino, strains of music came to me from the terrace, and thinking that the Boy might be there listening to the band, I went through the tunnel and came out on the beautiful flower-decked plateau overhanging the sea.  Out of season though it was, a great many people were sitting there, drinking tea or coffee, and listening to “La Paloma.”

The windows of the Casino were open, protected by awnings; birds were taking their last flight, before going to bed in some orange or lemon tree.  The place was more charming than in the high season; but the face I looked for was not to be seen, and I deserted the Terrace for the Rooms.

I had not been to “Monte” since the Boer war; and when I had gone through the formalities at the Bureau, and entered the first salle, it struck me strangely to find everything exactly as I had left it years ago.

The same heavy stillness, emphasised by the continuous chink, chink of gold and silver, and broken only by the announcement of events at different tables:  “Onze, noir, impair et manque";—­“Rien ne va plus";—­“Zero!”

The same onze; the same rien n’va plus; the same zero heralded in the same secretly joyous, outwardly apologetic tone, by the croupiers fortunate enough to produce it.  The same croupiers too;—­(or do croupiers develop a family likeness of face, of voice, of coat, as the years go chinking zeroly on?).  The same players, or their doppelgaengers; the same pictured nymphs smiling on the ornate walls.  But there was no Boy, no Boy’s sister; and suddenly it occurred to me that I was foolish to expect him.  He was too childlike in appearance to have obtained a ticket of admission to the gambling rooms.