He could not help remembering now the kind of remarks that were made by the more prosperous inhabitants of Market Dalling, his fellow citizens, when they went off for a short holiday to the South, in January or February.  They would see this poor lady, this Mrs. Meeks, wandering round the gaming tables, and the sight would amuse and shock them.  Chester knew that one of the first things said to him after the return of such people would be, “Who d’you think I saw at Monte Carlo?  Why, Mrs. Meeks, of course!  It’s enough to make her husband turn in his grave.”

And now he told himself ruefully that it would be enough to make honest George Bailey turn in his grave could he see his pretty, sheltered Sylvia sitting in the Casino at Lacville, surrounded by the riffraff collected there last night, and actually taking an active part in the game as well as risking her money with business-like intentness.

He wondered if he could persuade Sylvia to leave Lacville soon.  In any case he would himself stay on here three or four days—­he had meant only to stay twenty-four hours, for he was on his way to join a friend whose Swiss holiday was limited.  The sensible thing for Sylvia to do would be to go back to England.

* * * * *

Chester reached the Villa du Lac at half-past eleven and as he went out into the charming garden where he was told he would find Mrs. Bailey he told himself that Lacville was not without some innocent attractions.  But Mrs. Bailey was not alone in this lovely garden.  Sitting on the lawn by her was the Frenchman who had been with her when Chester had first caught sight of her at the Casino the night before.

The two were talking so earnestly that they only became aware of his approach when he was close to them, and though Chester was not a particularly observant man, he had an instant and most unpleasant impression that he had come too soon; that Sylvia was not glad to see him; and that the Frenchman was actually annoyed, even angered, by his sudden appearance.

“We might begin lunch a little earlier than twelve o’clock,” said Sylvia, getting up.  “They serve lunch from half-past eleven, do they not?” she turned to the Comte de Virieu.

“Yes, Madame, that is so,” he said; and then he added, bowing, “And now perhaps I should say good-bye.  I am going into Paris, as you know, early this afternoon, and then to Brittany.  I shall be away two nights.”

“You will remember me to your sister, to—­to the Duchesse,” faltered Sylvia.

Chester looked at her sharply.  This Frenchman’s sister?  The Duchesse?—­how very intimate Sylvia seemed to be with the fellow!

As the Count turned and sauntered back to the house she said rather breathlessly,

“The Comte de Virieu has been very kind to me, Bill.  He took me into Paris to see his sister; she is the Duchesse d’Eglemont.  You will remember that the Duc d’Eglemont won the Derby two years ago?”