The tall American cast a laughing glance at the little figure at his side. "We've more room to grow big in than you have in your 'right little, tight little isle,'" he said pleasantly. "Now if you're half as hungry as I am, you're ready to become a generous patron of natural history to the extent of eating some lunch at this restaurant. The net proceeds of all these places of entertainment are said to be turned in to purchase more beasts, birds, and reptiles for the public delectation."
Jane blushed resentfully as they seated themselves at a small table in the restaurant which was little more than an exaggerated veranda, open on all sides to the fresh breeze, the sight of the neat waitresses, in their caps and aprons, reminding her poignantly of her own anomalous position. She glanced fearfully about, half expecting to meet the scornful eyes of some one of Mrs. Belknap's acquaintances to whom she had opened the door, and whose cards she had conveyed to her mistress upon the diminutive tray which Mrs. Belknap had lately purchased for that express purpose. There were other young women at other round tables, wearing astonishing gowns and preposterous picture hats, and attended by dapper young men in smart ready-made suits and brilliant neckties. Amid the pervasive hum of toneless American voices, pieced by occasional high-pitched giggles, Jane became painfully conscious that her own gown was old-fashioned and shabby to a degree, and in marked contrast to the trim elegance of her companion's garb.
His eyes, released from a study of the bill of fare, followed hers with a half humorous and wholly masculine misapprehension. "These are New York's working girls out for a holiday," he said, "and they've certainly got Solomon cinched, as the boys say, on attire; haven't they?"
"If they are working girls, they are very unsuitably dressed," Jane said primly. Then she glanced down at her own frock made over from one of Gwendolen's cast-offs by her own unskilled fingers, and sighed deeply.
"I like a—a plain gown best; one made of blue stuff, say, and not too—too much frilled and furbelowed," he observed, with a fatuous desire to ingratiate himself, which met with instant and well-deserved retribution.
"It isn't kind nor—nor even civil of you to say that," murmured Jane, in a low indignant voice; "I'm only a working girl myself; and as for my frock, I know it's old-fashioned and—and ugly. I made it myself out of an old one; but you needn't have looked at it in that—particular way, and——"
"Jane!" he protested, startled at the fire in her eyes and the passionate tremor in her voice, "I beg your pardon for speaking as I did; it wasn't good manners, and I deserve to be squelched for doing it. I don't know any more about gowns than most men, and yours may be old-fashioned, but it is certainly the most becoming one I have seen to-day!"
Jane gazed at him searchingly. Then her mouth relaxed in a shadowy smile of forgiveness.
"Ah, here's the luncheon at last," he cried, with an air of huge relief, "and I hope you're as well prepared to overlook probable deficiencies as I am."