But probably not the truth. She alone of them all knew that he was on the first leg of the terrible journey to the beach. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. Brendon suggests supper at the Carlton. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before. “What year was 221 that, about 1350?” He asked in wonderment. Mr. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed.
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