‘Yes, a man called Tarrant. Very clever fellow; he writes for the papers.—I say, Miss. French, I generally have a glass of wine and a biscuit, at the confectioner’s, about this time. Will you give me the pleasure of your company?’
‘Charmee, Monsieur! I generally go in for the same kind of thing.’
So they repaired to the cake-shop, and sat talking for half-an-hour of trifles which made them laugh.
‘And you really didn’t know me?’ said Fanny, when her glass of wine was finished. ‘Have I changed so much?’
‘A good deal. Not for the worse, oh dear no!’
The girl giggled.
‘Well, I don’t mind saying that you have changed a good deal for the better.’
Horace flushed at the compliment.
‘I’m much older,’ he answered with a sigh, as though the years of a sexagenarian weighed upon him.
‘That’s just what I like in you. You’re so much more of a man. Don’t be offended.’