“But I didn’t say,” Lucile began; then, desperately, “Oh, please, can’t we talk of something else?”
“Certainly,” he agreed, and Lucile sensed the hurt in his voice. “We’ll talk of anything you please. What plans have you made for the day?”
“Why, Dad said he would take us to Paris,” said Lucile, instantly sorry for her little speech, yet afraid to say so. “We simply can’t wait to get there! Of course you are going with us?”
“If I may. I came over with my uncle, you know, and left him in Paris to transact some important business while I hunted you up. It’s a good little place—the inn, I mean—and I’m glad your father asked me to stay for the night. It’s a charming spot and quite close enough to the city.”
“That’s what Dad thought. Then, after we have lunch at some swell little restaurant—you know——”
“Yes, I know,” he agreed, laughingly. “Colored lights, and music, orchestra, and that,” and he waved his hand expressively.
“Uh-huh; and after all that, he’s going to drop us at the Louvre—oh, how naturally I speak of it now, and it used to seem like something on a different planet—while he tries to look up M. Charloix—he gave Dad his card on shipboard, luckily.”
“And then?” he prompted, laughing eyes fixed on the lovely, animated face at his shoulder.
“Well, then,” she continued eagerly, “then comes the very best of all. We’re going somewhere for dinner, then the theater, then dinner again, oh-h——”
“Just one glorious day of gladness,” he laughed; then, noticing her quickened breath, “We mustn’t tire you too much this morning when you have such a long day before you. Suppose we rest a while.”