“My dear young lady,” he said, “you too forget that we are on a quest. We are here to understand what pleasure means—how to win it. We must talk to every one, do everything everybody else does. It’s no good looking on all the time.”
“But you never talk to me at all,” she objected.
“Rubbish!” he answered lightly. “You don’t listen. Come, I am getting hungry. Davenant, we must order supper.”
Davenant, whose hair Mademoiselle Rosine had been ruffling, whose tie was no longer immaculate, and who was beginning to realize that he had drunk a good deal of wine, leaned forward and regarded Macheson with admiration.
“Old man,” he declared, “you’re great! Order what you like. We will eat it—somehow, won’t we, Rosine?”
She laughed assent.
“For me,” she begged, “some caviare, and afterwards an omelette.”
“Consommé and dry biscuits—and some fruit!” Ella suggested.
Macheson gave the order and filled their glasses. It was half-past two, and people were beginning to stream in. Unattached ladies strolled down the room—looking for a friend—or to make one. Their more fortunate sisters of the “haute demi-monde” were beginning to arrive with their escorts, from the restaurants and cafés. Greetings were shouted up and down the room. Suddenly Ella’s face clouded over again. It was the girl in blue, with whom Macheson had danced at Lesueur’s, who had just entered with a party of friends, women in lace coats and wonderful opera cloaks, the men all silk-hatted—the shiniest silk hats in Europe—white gloves, supercilious and immaculate. A burst of applause greeted her, as, with her blue skirts daringly lifted, she danced down the room to the table which was hastily being prepared for them. Her piquant face was wreathed with smiles, she shouted greetings everywhere, and when she saw Macheson, she threw him kisses with both hands, which he stood up and gallantly returned. She was the centre of attraction until Mademoiselle Anna from the Circus arrived, and to reach her place leaped lightly over an intervening table, with a wonderful display of red silk stocking and filmy lingerie. The place became gayer and noisier every moment. Greetings were shouted from table to table. The spirit of Bohemianism seemed to flash about the place like quicksilver. People who were complete strangers drank one another’s health across the room. The hard-worked waiters were rushing frantically about. The popping of corks was almost incessant, a blue haze of tobacco smoke hung about the room. Macheson, leaning back in his place, watched with eyes that missed little. He saw the keen-faced little man whose identity mademoiselle had disclosed, calmly fold up his paper, light a cigarette, and stroll across the room to a table nearly opposite. A man was sitting there with a couple of women—a big man with a flushed face and tumbled hair. The waiter was opening a magnum of champagne—everything seemed to promise a cheerful time for the trio. Then a word was whispered in his ear. The newcomer bowed apologetically to the ladies and accepted a glass of wine. But a moment later the two men left the place together—and neither returned.