And Carstairs laughed again.
Erna eyed him. “Why, he’s awake,” she said.
“Yes,” Breen and Nielsen assured her.
Carstairs raised his head and met her glance for an instant, and the sudden warmth he felt brought color to his face. He looked elsewhere, but it was plainly evident that he was feeling better.
“You’re sure you’re awake now?” she questioned wantonly.
“Yes, thanks,” he responded gratefully.
The young men started eating. Erna attended to her remaining duties with them and then went over to another table and sat down. Presently, she was occupied folding paper napkins. Breen, with Nielsen’s assistance, opened a discussion on the newest fad of French painting, examples of which were being exhibited at a Fifth Avenue gallery.
Carstairs stole cautious glances at Erna. Once or twice, she raised her eyes and caught his glance in hers. Both looked away in embarrassment. This performance was repeated several times. There seemed to be some shy understanding between them.
About a half hour later, the young men arose and put on their hats and coats. Erna came over and gave them their checks. “So long, Erna,” Nielsen parted cordially. “Au midi,” Breen seconded. And the pair made their way up the steps and out of the dining room.
Carstairs had delayed his departure a moment. He approached Erna nervously and in a hurried voice, began: “Is it all right for to-night? You know, you were going to let me know.”