"Is it unconventional?" she asked carelessly. "I do not study those things. I lunch or dine with a party, generally, because it happens so. I lunch alone with you because it pleases me."
"And for this material side of our entertainment?" he enquired, smiling, as he handed her the menu card.
"A grapefruit, a quail with white grapes, and some asparagus," she replied promptly. "You see, in one respect I am an easy companion. I know exactly what I want. A mixed vermouth, if you like, yes. And now, tell me your news?"
"There is news," he announced, "which the whole world will know of before many hours are past. France has broken her pact with England."
"It is my opinion," she said deliberately, "that France has been very patient with you."
"And mine," he acknowledged. "We have now to see what will become of a fat and prosperous country with a semi-obsolete fleet and a comic opera army."
"Must we talk of serious things?" she asked softly. "I am weary of the clanking wheels of life."
He sighed.
"And yet for you," he said, "they are not grinding out the fate of your country."
"Nevertheless, I too hear them all the time," she rejoined. "And I hate them. They make one lose one's sense of proportion. After all, it is our own individual and internal life which counts. I can understand Nero fiddling while Rome burned, if he really had no power to call up fire engines."