Yet the duke had long been an epicure in life’s pleasures, and though he must yield to the demands of his creditors, much as a young prince must yield to the edicts of his chancellery in making a required marriage, he did so with mental reservations.  He had no intention of permitting that necessity to cast a perpetual cloud over his days and nights.

He had found it possible to leave his estate in Andalusia, where his duchess elected to remain with an imaginary malady from which she derived much melancholy pleasure, and in Nice he had been overjoyed to meet a charming acquaintance in the person of Loraine Haswell.

Loraine, too, was willing to have these hours which hung heavy alleviated with companionship, and Nice is a place where hours lend themselves to the process of being lightened.

There was a waiter at one of the esplanade cafes where the tables look out over the whiteness of the sea-front and the sapphire of the bay, who regarded his grace and madame as his regular clients.  He knew without telling what hors d’oeuvres and vintages the dark gentleman affected and at what pastries the beautiful lady preferred to nibble.  She nibbled decoratively between peals of soft laughter and snatches of small talk.

The garcon in question noted—­and officially ignored—­that the lady, who had at first worn a preoccupied, almost troubled, expression about her dark eyes, now smiled more often, and that into the black pupils of Carlos de Metuan there came frequently a glow which was akin to ardor.

In the same way he noticed that occasionally their hands met and lingered, as the lady formed the habit of losing her handkerchief and the gentleman habituated himself to its retrieving.  A legal separation cannot be established in a day, and if one must remain away from one’s friends at home, one may surely console oneself with friends abroad.

The duke was lavish in his entertainment.  His wife’s fortune permitted that, as well as his wife’s ignorance of the disbursements, and of late Loraine’s supply of money from America had arrived on a scale of diminuendo.  Entertainment was welcome.

Half-jokingly and veiled in phrases which she was at liberty to construe as she wished, there had of late been an insidious vein of suggestion in the duke’s conversation.

“Were I not married and were you not married and were I able to convince you with an eloquence which I lack, I think I might be happy,” he informed her one night as he studied his cigarette end in the dark.  Then he laughed and his hand sought hers as he added:  “Yet, thank God a thousand times, we live in a day when friendship need not go shackled by dark-age absurdities.”  That had been the beginning.

“Friendship,” she replied demurely, “has never had to be shackled, has it?”

He leaned forward and she caught the glint of his eyes and a flash of white teeth, as he answered: