"Yes, go on!" she said.
He told her the story. She listened with an interest which surprised him. Once or twice when he looked up he fancied that the lady from Vienna was also doing her best to listen. When he had finished their supper had arrived.
"I think," she said, as she helped herself to hors d'œuvre, "that you were very fortunate to get away."
He laughed carelessly.
"The joke of it is," he said, "I've been followed all the way here. One fellow, who pretended he got in at Strasburg, was trying to talk to me all the time, but I saw him sneak in at Vienna, and I wasn't having any. I say, do you come here every evening?"
"Very often," she answered. "I dance at the Comique, and then we generally go to Maxim's to supper, and up here afterwards. I'll introduce you to my friends afterwards, if you like, and we'll all sit together. If you're very good I'll dance to you!"
"Delighted," he answered, "if they speak English. I'm sick of trying to make people understand my rotten French."
She nodded.
"They speak English all right. I wish that horrid Viennese girl wouldn't try to listen to every word we say."
He smiled.