At one o'clock a few of Robbie's guests went to bed, Montague among
them. He left two tables of bridge fiends sitting immobile, the
women with flushed faces and feverish hands, and the men with
cigarettes dangling from their lips. There were trays and decanters
beside each card-table; and in the hall he passed three youths
staggering about in each other's arms and feebly singing snatches of
"coon songs." Ollie and Betty had strolled away together to parts
unknown.

Montague had entered his name in the order-book to be called at nine
o'clock. The man who awakened him brought him coffee and cream upon
a silver tray, and asked him if he would have anything stronger. He
was privileged to have his breakfast in his room, if he wished; but
he went downstairs, trying his best to feel natural in his elaborate
hunting costume. No one else had appeared yet, but he found the
traces of last night cleared away, and breakfast ready--served in
English fashion, with urns of tea and coffee upon the buffet. The
grave butler and his satellites were in attendance, ready to take
his order for anything else under the sun that he fancied.

Montague preferred to go for a stroll upon the terrace, and to watch
the sunlight sparkling upon the sea. The morning was
beautiful--everything about the place was so beautiful that he
wondered how men and women could live here and not feel the spell of
it.

Billy Price came down shortly afterward, clad in a khaki hunting
suit, with knee kilts and button-pockets and gun-pads and Cossack
cartridge-loops. She joined him in a stroll down the beach, and
talked to him about the coming winter season, with its leading