"She is just like these Frenchwomen!" And for some reason he felt proud.
"You needn't," said Lois, "We can telephone from under the grand stand if you like."
"But I don't know the number."
"We can get that out of the book, of course."
"I don't reckon I can use these French telephones."
"Oh! My poor boy, I'll telephone for you—unless you prefer not to risk knowing the worst."
Yes, her tone was the tone of a strange woman. And it was she who thirsted for the result of the competition.
Controlling himself, submissively he asked her to telephone for him, and she agreed in a delightfully agreeable voice. She seemed to know the entire geography of the Hippodrome. She secured a telephone-cabin in a very business-like manner. As she entered the cabin she said to George:
"I'll ask them if a telegram has come, and if it has I'll ask them to open it and read it to me, or spell it—of course it'll be in English.... Eh?"
Through the half-open door of the cabin he watched her, and listened. She rapidly turned over the foul and torn pages of the telephone-book with her thumb. She spoke into the instrument very clearly, curtly, and authoritatively. George could translate in his mind what she said—his great resolve to learn French had carried him so far.