He thought of the dream, and of the boy who had dreamed it, half
bitterly, half sadly, on this his first day in the place of the dream.

He was rich--as rich as he had seen himself in the impossible picture,
and it would have been almost too easy to buy the white dress, and the
ermine, and the pearls. But there was no one for whom he would have been
happy to buy them. The most beautiful girl in the world was not in his
world now; and none other had had the password to open the door of his
heart since she had gone out, locking it behind her.

"She would have liked the auto," he said to himself. And then, a moment
later, "I wonder why I came?"

It was a perfect Riviera day. Everybody in Monte Carlo who was not in
the Casino was sauntering on the terrace in the sun; for it was that
hour before luncheon when people like to say, "How do you do?--How nice
to meet you here!" to their friends.

The young man from far away had not, so far as he knew, either enemies
or friends at Monte Carlo. He was not conscious of the slightest desire
to say "How do you do?" to any of the pretty people he met, although
there is a superstition that every soul longs for kindred souls at
Christmas time.

He had not been actively unhappy before he left the Hotel de Paris and
strolled out on the terrace, to have his first sight of Monte Carlo by
daylight. Always, there was the sore spot in his heart, and often it
ached almost unbearably at night, or when the world hurt him with its
beauty, which he must see without Her; but usually he kept the spot
well covered up; and being healthy as well as young, he had cultivated