She had not seen, but was peering into her mirror.
“How glad you are to see me!” She laughed. “Really, I’ve nothing catching. What’s the matter?...” She glanced about and saw Andree. “Oh!” she said. “I’m glad. I wanted to know her.”
“I told you—” he began; but it was Andree who interrupted.
“Bon jour, Mademoiselle Knox,” she said, gravely. “We have met one little time.”
“Yes, indeed, and I have wanted so much to meet you again. I have told Mr. Ware....”
“And I, too, have wanted to know you. I have said it to him, yes, many times. I have said that I shall to know thees Miss Maude Knox—but”—she shrugged her shoulders—“les Américains are droll.... He would not.”
“He can’t help himself now, can he? Now that we know we want to be acquainted with each other, there’s nothing he can do about it.”
“Oh, I do not onderstan’. You speak trop vite, mademoiselle. My English it is of the worst.”
“And my French is non-existent. But that doesn’t matter in the least, does it? We shall get on.”
For those girls there was now something of much greater importance than the parade, and they promptly forgot it. Maude moved over to Andree’s side and they began the sort of conversation that women use when they are appraising each other with serious intention. Ken listened uneasily. There was nothing he could do. This thing that he had desired not to happen had happened, and that was all there was to it. He pretended to watch the parade, but his mind was concentrated on what the girls were saying. The girls appeared to have forgotten him as well as the marching men.