window," observed M. Polperro. "As yet Lacville is very empty. Paris is
so delightful," he sighed, "but very soon, when the heat comes, Lacville
will be quite full," he smiled joyously. "I myself have a very choice
clientèle--I do not deal with rubbish." He drew himself up proudly. "My
clients come back to me year after year. Already I have six visitors, and
in ten days my pension will be _au grand complet_. It is quality, not
quantity, that I desire, Madame. If ever you know anyone who wishes to
come to Lacville you may safely recommend them--I say it with my hands
on my heart," and he suited his action to his words--"to the Villa du
Lac."

How delightful it all was to Sylvia Bailey! No wonder her feeling of
depression and loneliness vanished.

As she sat down, and looked out of the bay window which commanded the
whole length of the gleaming, sun-flecked lake, she told herself that,
pleasant as was Paris, Lacville on a hot day was certainly a hundred
times pleasanter than Paris.

And the Casino? Sylvia fixed her blue eyes on the white, fairy-like
group of buildings, which were so attractive an addition to the pretty
landscape.

Surely one might spend a pleasant time at Lacville and never play for
money? Though she was inclined to feel that in this matter of gambling
English people are curiously narrow. It was better to be philosophical
about it, like that excellent Frenchwoman in the train, who had not
grudged her husband a little amusement, even if it entailed his losing
what she had described as "hard-earned money."