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Augustin, where the
town curves along the glistering shore to the western horn of the little
bay. At the back of it runs the historic high road from Marseilles to the
Italian frontier, passing through Cannes and Nice. Behind it, too, runs
the railway with its many tunnels, following the same, though a somewhat
less serpentine, course along the gracious coast.
To the ex-Anglo-Indian woman, society is as imperative a necessity as
water to a fish. She must foregather or life loses all its savour; must
entertain, be entertained, rub shoulders generally or she is lost.
Henrietta Frayling suffered the accustomed fate, though to speak of
rubbing shoulders in connection with her is to express oneself
incorrectly to the verge of grossness. Her shoulders were of an order far
too refined to rub or be rubbed. Nevertheless, after the shortest
interval consistent with self-respect, such society as St. Augustin and
its neighbourhood afforded found itself enmeshed in her dainty net. Mrs.
Frayling's villa became a centre, where all English-speaking persons
met.


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