Although the waiter was not watching us, some one else was. A faultlessly dressed gentleman approached at this juncture and greeted Milly in an impressive manner.
“Why, Mr. Van Silver!” she exclaimed, a little fluttered by the unexpected meeting. “I haven’t seen you since last summer at Narragansett Pier.”
“And whose fault is that?” Mr. Van Silver asked plaintively. “If young ladies will shut themselves up in convents, and never send their adoring friends any invitation to a four o’clock tea or a reception or even a school examination or a prayer meeting, where they might catch a glimpse of them, it is the poor adorer’s misfortune, and not his fault, if he is forgotten. Won’t you introduce me to your friends?”
“Certainly. Tib, this is Mr. Van Silver. Mr. Van Silver, allow me to present you to Tib—I mean to Miss Smith. I can’t introduce you to the other young lady, because I don’t know her name.”
We had all risen and the last remark was made sotto voce. As we left the building Mr. Van Silver sheltered Milly with his umbrella and the waif followed with me. “Come with us to Madame’s,” I had said, “and perhaps we can do something for you.”
As we walked on together Milly and Mr. Van Silver carried on a lively conversation, part of which I overheard, and the remainder Milly reported afterward. She first told him of how we had met our new acquaintance, and he seemed much interested.
“And so you have just given her a very solid and sensible lunch, consisting of green turtle soup and ice cream.” He laughed a low, gurgling laugh and appeared infinitely amused.
“And macaroons,” Milly added; “she has at least five macaroons in her pocket for the children.”
“Oh! yes, a macaroon a piece for the children. I wonder if I couldn’t contribute a cigarette for each of them,” and he gurgled again in a purring, pleasant way.
“You are making fun of me,” Milly pouted, in an aggrieved way.