Bert looked at Kendall.
“I had an engagement with Madeleine. Don’t see why we shouldn’t dine here, though.”
“Why,” Kendall said, hesitatingly, “Andree said she wanted to meet you and Madeleine—and to see the apartment. We might—” He was still reluctant.
But Bert settled the thing for him out of hand. “Dinner for four, if you please. At seventy-thirty.”
“A nice dinner,” Kendall added, rather apprehensively. “There will be ladies.”
He watched the concierge’s face to see how this news would affect her. Apparently it did not affect her at all.
“Of a surety,” she said, “Arlette shall be notified.”
The young men disposed of their traps temporarily and walked to their offices.
“I heard of a bully place to eat,” said Bert. He was always finding new and excellent and quaint cafés. “Up on the rue de Richelieu. Marty’s they call it. A French officer told me about it—says it’s mostly patronized by actors from the Comédie and artists and newspaper men. Suppose we take a look.”
“Suits me,” said Kendall. “Meet you in the Union at seven.”