"Jolly crowd of the best fellows in the world?"
"Yes."
"What then?"
"What then, you fish-monger? Why, just one woman! Let me tell you of a dinner!"
Jack was on his feet now, his hand outstretched, his eyes partly closed as if the scene he was about to describe lay immediately beneath his gaze.
"It was on a balcony overlooking St. Cloud—all Paris swimming in a golden haze. There were violets—and a pair of long gray gloves on the white cloth—and a wide-brimmed hat crowned with roses, shading a pair of brown eyes. Oh! such eyes! 'A pint of Chablis,' I said to the waiter; 'sole à la Marguerey, some broiled mushrooms, and a fruit salad—and please take the candles away; we prefer the twilight.'
"But the perfume of the violets—and the lifting of her lashes—and the way she looked at me, and——"
