Zora passed him once or twice. Then by the station lift she paused and
looked out at the bay of Mentone clasping the sea--a blue enamel in a
setting of gold. She stood for some moments lost in the joy of it when a
voice behind her brought her back to the commonplace.

"Very lovely, isn't it?"

A thin-faced Englishman of uncertain age and yellow, evil eyes met her
glance as she turned instinctively.

"Yes, it's beautiful," she replied coldly; "but that is no reason why you
should take the liberty of speaking to me."

"I couldn't help sharing my emotions with another, especially one so
beautiful. You seem to be alone here?"

Now she remembered having seen him before--rather frequently. The previous
evening he had somewhat ostentatiously selected a table near hers at
dinner. He had watched her as she had left the theater and followed her to
the lift door. He had been watching for his opportunity and now thought it
had come. She shivered with sudden anger, and round her heart crept the
chill of fright which all women know who have been followed in a lonely
street.

"I certainly am not alone," she said wrathfully. "Good morning."

The man covered his defeat by raising his hat with ironic politeness, and
Zora walked swiftly away, in appearance a majestic Amazon, but inwardly a
quivering woman. She marched straight up to the recumbent Dix. The Literary
Man from London would have been amused. She interposed herself between the