“Where shall we walk?” he asked, when she came down to him.
“On the Quai, of course. No one ever walks anywhere else.”
“I do often, and we did this morning,” he replied, as they passed out through the maze of tables and orange-trees that covered the terrace before the hotel.
“I should have said ‘no one who is anybody.’”
He looked at her, a sadly puzzled trouble in his eyes.
“Is it a joke you make there,” he asked, “or but your argot?”
“I don’t know,” she said, unfurling her parasol; “the question that I am putting to myself just now is, why did not you raise this for me instead of allowing me to do it for myself?”
He looked at her fixedly.
“Why should I do so? or is that a joke?”
“No, I asked that in dead earnest.”