'She's the finest woman in the place,' he thought decisively. And he said to her: 'Will you come down and have something to eat?'
'I can talk to her,' he reflected with satisfaction, as the faultless young man handed them desired sandwiches in the supper-room. What he meant was that she could talk to him; but men often make this mistake.
Before he had eaten half a sandwich, the period of time between that night and the night at the Louvre had been absolutely blotted out. He did not know why. He could think of no explanation. It merely was so.
She told him she had sold a sensational serial for a pound a thousand words.
'Not a bad price—for me,' she added.
'Not half enough!' he exclaimed ardently.
Her eyes moistened. He thought what a shame it was that a creature like her should be compelled to earn even a portion of her livelihood by typewriting for Mark Snyder. The faultless young man unostentatiously poured more wine into their glasses. No other guests happened to be in the room....
'Ah, you're here!' It was the hostess, sniggering.
'You told me to bring someone down,' said Henry, who had no intention of being outfaced now.
'We're just coming up,' Geraldine added.