“Arlette,” said Bert, “is a woman of sound judgment.”
“Where is Mademoiselle Madeleine?” Andree asked, with one of those sudden changes of subject which were characteristic of her.
“I haven’t the least idea.”
“Why is she not here? I want her to be here. I would speak of many things to her.”
“Blame Ken there. I suggested having Madeleine, but he said he wanted you all by yourself with nobody else around.”
She turned to look at Ken as if to satisfy herself if this were truth or jesting, and then she smiled the merest trifle. “It is well,” she said, softly.
“I’m on my way,” said Bert, arising. “Got a bridge game on at the Union.... Bon soir, mademoiselle.... And you, Ken, keep your feet on the ground.”
“‘Keep your feet on the groun’,’” repeated Andree, when Bert was gone. “Oh, it mean nothing whatever. Thees English language, it is très-drôle. What is thees keep your feet on the groun’?”
“It means that Bert agrees with Arlette that I need somebody to look after me,” he said, a bit ruefully.
“It is well. Here am I—here—here.” She laughed that fairy laugh, and poked her finger toward the floor many times. “I am here, so he mus’ not be afraid. I shall look after you. Oh yes, I shall be mos’ firm and ver’ stern. You shall see.” And she made a tremendous face to show him what severity she was capable of.