The little girl sighed, and said, "It doesn't matter, thank you," and, sitting down again on the seat, resumed her patient waiting, drooping forward with eyes rather dim.
Tinker studied her face, and his keen eye told him what was wrong.
"Have you had déjeuner?" he said sharply.
"No-o-o," said the little girl reluctantly.
"Then you've had nothing since your coffee this morning?"
"No, but it doesn't matter. Uncle is rather forgetful," said the little girl, but her lips moved at the thought of food as a hungry child's will.
"This won't do at all! Come along with me. It's rather late, but we'll find something."
Her face brightened for a moment; but she shook her head, and said, "No, I mustn't go away from here. Uncle might come back, and he would be so angry if he had to look for me."
Tinker shrugged his shoulders, turned on his heel, and was gone. She looked after him sadly. She would have liked him to stay a little longer; it was so nice to talk to an English boy after ten days in this strange land; and he seemed such a nice boy. But she only drooped a little more, and stared out over the bright sea with misty eyes, composing herself to endure her hunger.
Tinker went swiftly to the restaurant of the Hôtel des Princes, where the waiters greeted him with affectionate grins, and, addressing himself to the manager, set forth his new friend's plight, and his wishes. The manager fell in with them on the instant, only too pleased to have the chance of obliging his most popular customer; and, in five minutes, Tinker left the restaurant followed by a waiter bearing a tray of dainties, all carefully chosen to tempt the appetite of a child. They took their way to the gardens, and the little girl brightened up at the sight of the returning Tinker. But when the waiter set the tray on the seat, she flushed painfully, and though she could not draw her hungry eyes away from the food, she stammered, "T-t-thank you very m-m-much. B-b-but I haven't any money."