“There is no one,” she murmured, “who dances like monsieur.”
He sprang up from his seat and whirled her round the room. She leaned against his arm and whispered in his ear. Ella watched her with darkening face.
“It is little Flossie from the Folies Marigny,” Mademoiselle Rosine remarked. “You must have a care, Ella. She has followed Monsieur Macheson everywhere with her eyes.”
He returned to his place and continued his supper.
“Hang it all, you people are dull to-night,” he exclaimed. “Drink some more wine, Davenant, and look after mademoiselle. Miss Ella!”
He filled her glass and she leaned over the table.
“Every one else seems to make love to you,” she whispered. “I guess I’ll have to begin. If you call me Miss Ella again I shall box your ears.”
“Ella then, what you will,” he exclaimed. “Remember, all of you, that we are here to have a good time, not to mope. Davenant, if you don’t sparkle up, I shall come and sit between the girls myself.”
“Come along,” they both cried. Mademoiselle Rosine held out her arms, but Macheson kept his seat.