At The Villa Rose

It was Mr. Ricardo's habit as soon as the second week of August

came round to travel to Aix-les-Bains, in Savoy, where for five or

six weeks he lived pleasantly. He pretended to take the waters in

the morning, he went for a ride in his motor-car in the afternoon,

he dined at the Cercle in the evening, and spent an hour or two

afterwards in the baccarat-rooms at the Villa des Fleurs. An

enviable, smooth life without a doubt, and it is certain that his

acquaintances envied him. At the same time, however, they laughed

at him and, alas with some justice; for he was an exaggerated

person.

He was to be construed in the comparative. Everything in

his life was a trifle overdone, from the fastidious arrangement of

his neckties to the feminine nicety of his little dinner-parties.

In age Mr. Ricardo was approaching the fifties; in condition he

was a widower--a state greatly to his liking, for he avoided at

once the irksomeness of marriage and the reproaches justly

levelled at the bachelor; finally, he was rich, having amassed a

fortune in Mincing Lane, which he had invested in profitable

securities.

Ten years of ease, however, had not altogether obliterated in him

the business look. Though he lounged from January to December, he

lounged with the air of a financier taking a holiday; and when he

visited, as he frequently did, the studio of a painter, a stranger

would have hesitated to decide whether he had been drawn thither

by a love of art or by the possibility of an investment. His

"acquaintances" have been mentioned, and the word is suitable. For

while he mingled in many circles, he stood aloof from all. He

affected the company of artists, by whom he was regarded as one

ambitious to become a connoisseur; and amongst the younger

business men, who had never dealt with him, he earned the

disrespect reserved for the dilettante. If he had a grief, it was

that he had discovered no great man who in return for practical

favours would engrave his memory in brass. He was a Maecenas

without a Horace, an Earl of Southampton without a Shakespeare. In

a word, Aix-les-Bains in the season was the very place for him;

and never for a moment did it occur to him that he was here to be

dipped in agitations, and hurried from excitement to excitement.

The beauty of the little town, the crowd of well-dressed and

agreeable people, the rose-coloured life of the place, all made

their appeal to him. But it was the Villa des Fleurs which brought

him to Aix. Not that he played for anything more than an

occasional louis; nor, on the other hand, was he merely a cold

looker-on. He had a bank-note or two in his pocket on most

evenings at the service of the victims of the tables. But the

pleasure to his curious and dilettante mind lay in the spectacle

of the battle which was waged night after night between raw nature

and good manners. It was extraordinary to him how constantly

manners prevailed. There were, however, exceptions.