The lady was intently scrutinising the menu. Then to Phil:
“Don’t you think ferras is an extremely bony fish?”
This was too much even for Fordham. The corners of his mouth dropped perceptibly, and a faintly audible chuckle escaped him.
“I—I—’pon my life I don’t know,” stuttered poor Phil. “The fact is I never knew the scheme of creation comprised such a fish.”
“Didn’t you really? How very odd. But do you really mean it though?”
“Oh, yes; it’s a fact,” he declared, wearily.
“Ah! they are bringing it round now. You will soon be able to give me your opinion.”
Phil was deciding that he would die rather than prosecute any investigations into the osseously reputed ferras, and was on the point of asserting that he loathed the whole finny race, when a diversion occurred. Three chairs opposite had remained vacant, and into these three persons were now seating themselves. Looking up suddenly, Phil found himself face to face with the girl who had so strongly attracted his attention on board the Mont Blanc.
The old couple were her parents, of course, he decided straight out of hand. Military and Indian, he went on, pursuing his verdict, and a fine-looking old man. The elder lady seemed in frail health. Of course they were the girl’s parents—not a doubt about it. But what a piece of luck! She to be his vis-à-vis at the table! He quite forgot the existence of the exemplary bore at his elbow, now.
The girl herself, as soon as she was seated, sent a searching glance all down the room, as if appraising the style of people who were to be their fellow-sojourners. This he noted; also her perfect and graceful self-possession. But for all the interest taken in the new arrivals by Fordham, they might just as well not have come in.