I'd leave this minute if I could . . . if you were going, he added.
We'll both go . . . to my place at Cannes, first. It's quiet there now. This is not the Riviera season. For a month or two we can be entirely alone. Then we'll motor down into Italy . . . to Bordighera and Spezia, the smaller towns along the shore . . . But why make plans? You shall see everything, do everything you want to do.
But Count—Ella, he continued, you know I have no money. How can I do these things?
Money! she laughed. Money! Don't worry about money. I have heaps of it, tons of it. I have more money than I know what to do with. Money! she cried. It's all yours, my divinity, to do what you please with. Spend it! Go where you desire . . . only . . . be a little kind to me, and take me with you.
Everywhere, he murmured fervently. It will not be difficult to be kind to you. You are all in the world I have to be kind to, and you have been so kind to me.
I can't wait, she cried. When shall we start?
The sooner the better so far as I am concerned. Today. This afternoon if you like. We'll take the four o'clock train east.
She pondered over this; not cautious by nature, she usually acted hastily, on impulse, but his ready acceptance of her plan paradoxically impelled her to hesitate. No, Gareth, she spoke at last, that won't
