For a short moment she hesitated—then she admitted it.
"When?"
"Monday evening."
"Oh—the day you had lunch with me."
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
Again she hesitated.
"What right have I to ask—eh?" he interrupted before she could frame the words to reply. "Isn't that what you're sticking over? Of course I've no right but interest. You brought me the interest, you know—but I apologize for it all the same. Berthe!"
"Oui—Monsieur."
"Maquereaux grillés; and I want something to drink."