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He passed his nights in the Bohemian Club camp, his mornings in bed, the remaining hours wandering about with his betrothed; and felt that altogether life was not understood by the pessimists. England, with the struggles and cares and responsibilities it held in store for him, seemed to exist only between the rusty covers of history, and life a thing to be dawdled away in a wonderful forest, where the very air made a man hate the thought of all that was hard and ugly and too serious.
Clive was something more than curious to see Miss Belmont again, but hardly knew whether he ought to go to her house or not. It was possible that she expected him to decline an invitation proffered before an unpleasant adventure; but unless he pleaded sudden illness he did not see his way out of acceptance. On Saturday, however, Mary received a note from the châtelaine of Casa del Norte, reminding her of the dinner and of her promise to bring Mr. Clive.