“But I am,” Macheson declared. “What are we here for but to eat and drink and enjoy ourselves? Jove! this is good champagne! Mademoiselle Rosine!”
He raised his glass and bowed. Mademoiselle Rosine laughed at him out of her big black eyes. He was rather a fascinating figure, this tall, good-looking young Englishman, who spoke French so perfectly and danced so well.
“I would make you come and sit by me, Monsieur Macheson,” she declared, “but Ella would be jealous.”
“What about me?” Davenant exclaimed.
“Oh! là, là!” she answered, pinching his arm.
“I’m sure I don’t mind,” Ella declared. “I guess we’re all free to talk to whom we please.”
Macheson drew up a chair and sat opposite to them.
“I choose to look at you both,” he said, banging the table with his knife. “Garçon, we did not come here to eat your flowers or your immaculate tablecloth. We ordered supper half an hour ago. Good! It arrives.”
No one but Macheson seemed to have much appetite. He ate and he drank, and he talked almost alone. He ordered another bottle of wine, and the tongues of the others became a little looser. The music was going now all the time, and many couples were dancing. The fair-haired girl, dancing with an older woman, touched him on the shoulder as she passed, and laughed into his face.