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 "Pensione Grimaldi, Capri, April 18, 1924. Five weeks in bed, By this time Germaine and her captivating (literally enough) dancing man must be well on the way to India. After all, she wished to see strange lands! One can almost be thankful she ran away when she did, for if she had seen the present collapse she might have remained out of pity—which would have been intolerable. As it is, she has even a sense of moral advantage—at a stretch of imagination which she is equal to. The fact that I failed to keep pace with her up that beastly hill—the mountain of Tiberius—will remain for her an evidence of sulkiness on my part. For all her former care of me, she had forgotten the doctor's warnings. If one were cynical one would wonder whether she ever listened to them.

"My only quarrel with Germaine is that she didn't pay me the compliment of being honest—I think that's the only quarrel I have with anybody. But the boat was ready to leave for Naples and, even if she had had a vision of me prostrate on a deserted mountain path, there was no denying the fact that our funds were running low. The other man had to catch his steamer to Port SaidSaïd [sic]. Opportunity knocks only once. Germaine answered. Grand bien lui fasse! At least she's not spoiling perfectly good canvas!

"I've been less clever than Germaine. I've sent word out to Opportunity, in the phrase that Aunt Verona taught me: 'He's not at home.' That, she said, was one of the few fibs in the world that might be told, a mere façon de parler. A grim façon, on the whole—sinister and symbolic. Opportunity doesn't call nowadays; knows it's useless; and I've only to crawl back to Paris. It's just possible that one day even Germaine, if she makes a good thing out of life, will look back and say, 'He wasn't a bad sort; he once gave me a leg-up.' But, if