He smiled.
“Oh, Maisie and I are old friends; we understand each other.”
He ordered wine and food.
“But,” he said, turning to Artemis, “perhaps you would like us to have supper in a private room?”
“I should—very much,” she half-whispered, “for I feel strange here among all these people.”
“And so would I,” he agreed.
“The summer-house, Monsieur, is not being used, if you would like that,” said the waiter.
Onias questioned Artemis with his eyebrows, and she nodded in reply.
The large summer-house was cool and cushioned; concealed from the rest of the garden by a high hedge, they were alone and unobserved. Onias took his Lucette in his arms and kissed her gently.
“I feel so sad about you,” he said; “won’t you tell me what is the matter?”