“At yours,” she said sharply.
When she spoke like that she created the effect of being more distant than an utter stranger. It wasn’t until some minutes later, when they were seated at table, that he addressed her.
“There’s something that I want to say; I may as well say it now. When a man’s in love with a girl and she doesn’t care for him particularly, she has him at an ungenerous disadvantage: she can make a fool of him any minute she chooses. I don’t think it’s quite sporting of her to do it.”
Her graciousness came back. “But I do care for you particularly. Poor you! Did I speak crossly? Here’s why: we’ve got to leave Paris. There’s a man at my hotel who knows me. I wouldn’t have him see us together for the world.”
“So that was all? I was afraid I’d done something to offend.”
She made eyes at him above her cup of coffee. “You’re all right, Meester Deek. You don’t need to get nervous.—But where’ll we go for our honeymoon?”
“I’m waiting for it to commence.” He smiled ruefully. “You’re just the same as you always were.”
“But where’ll we go?” she repeated. “We’ve got all the world to choose from.”
He told the waiter to bring a Cook’s Time Table. Turning to the index, he began to read out the names alphabetically. “Aden?”
“Too hot,” she said.