“Now that’s mighty nice. You thank her, Arlette, and we’ll thank her when we go down.... I guess we haven’t made a hit with madame, eh?... And, mignonne! We must have another place, Arlette, and a spoon. But mignonne does not like pudding, eh?”
“Oui,” said little Arlette, her eyes growing even bigger, and the pucker turning into a smile.
Kendall settled the child at table and then gravely introduced her to Andree.
“She goes to America with me, you are to understand. I am about to ask Arlette for this young lady’s hand. But yes. We are very fond of each other. Is it not so, mademoiselle?”
“Yes, monsieur,” replied little Arlette, very gravely.
“Oh!... Oh!... You are ver’ naughty. I am jealous. I shall not stay. I shall go away.”
Little Arlette observed her gravely. “Monsieur will be my husband,” she said. “It is arranged.”
“Poor myself!... I am sad. I shall to weep.”
Arlette looked at Andree interestedly and expectantly and cheerfully, not displeased to have caused this frightful storm of jealousy and well prepared to rejoice in the tears of her defeated rival.
Kendall carried the mite into the other room and placed her on the sofa between himself and Andree, where she snuggled up to him with a charming little air of proprietorship. Andree bent suddenly to kiss the child, and then turned her head away and gazed out of the window....