“Oh, the Francais, and the opera, and so on, of course.”
“No, no, no,” exclaimed Lady Deane, tapping her foot impatiently and fixing her gray eyes on the General’s now puzzled face. “Not the same old treadmill in Paris as in London! Not that, General!”
“What then, my dear lady?” asked he. “Your wish is law to me,” and it was true that he had become very fond of his earnest young friend. “What do you want to see? The Chamber of Deputies?”
Sir Roger’s voice struck in.
“I’m not a puritanical husband, Bellairs, but I must make a stand somewhere. Not the Chamber of Deputies.”
“Don’t be silly, Roger dear,” said Lady Deane, in her usual tone of dispassionate reproof.
“I can’t find out where she does want to go to,” remarked the General.
“I can tell you,” said Sir Roger, and he leant down and whispered a name; in the General’s ear. The General jumped.
“Good heavens!” he exclaimed. “I haven’t been there since the fifties. Is it still like what it used to be?”
“How should I know?” inquired Sir Roger. “I’m not a student of social phenomena. Maud is, so she wants to go.”