He had been looking at Cassy. On the table was a vase in which there were flowers. He took two of them and looked again at the girl.
"Sunday is always hateful. Couldn't you both dine with me here?"
The former prima donna wiped her loose mouth. She could, she would, and she said so.
Paliser put the flowers before Cassy.
"Le parlate d'amor," the ex-diva began and, slightly for a moment, her deep voice mounted.
Cassy turned on her. "You're an imbecile."
With an uplift of the chin—a family habit—Paliser summoned the waiter. While he was paying him, Cassy protested. She had nothing to wear.
She had other objections which she kept to herself. If it had been Lennox she would have had none at all. But it was not Lennox. It was a man whom she had never seen before and who was entirely too free with his eyes.
"Come as you are," said the Tamburini, who massively stood up.
Paliser also was rising. "Let me put you in a cab and on Sunday——"