At a quarter to seven it occurred to him that Wallace Armstrong must stand him a dinner out of his uncle's cheque; so, putting down his billiard-cue, he thrust his fingers jauntily through his white curls before a looking-glass, set his hat a little on one side, and sallied forth on his young friend's track. He judged that Laline and the children had probably gone home, and was therefore greatly surprised at hearing his own name cried from a fiacre which was being driven through the principal street of the town with the rapid and zigzag course of the Gallic cabman. Within were seated Wallace Armstrong and Laline in the places of honour, and on Wallace's knee was placed the youngest Mademoiselle Bertin, hugging a new doll and eating sweets from a paper bag. Three more children with their backs to the horses, and the eldest Bertin boy on the box, all looked equally hot, tired, and happy, and laden with sweets and toys, while Laline's eyes shone like stars in her excitement and delight.
The toys and sweets had not cost very much, and even the enchanting drive was not an unreasonably-priced item. But this good fairy of a Mr. Armstrong had confided to Laline that he owed her father a great deal of money, and had been by him authorised to spend a part of it upon her. As a result, she was wearing her first beautiful shop-made hat of black open-work straw and black lace, with a wreath of small, pink rosebuds outlining her fresh, young face, and other rosebuds decorating the crown. Fifteen francs had been the price of this triumph of millinery; and in all her life afterwards Laline never again derived from any clothes the absolute joy the wearing of this first smart hat afforded her.
Sweets and cakes, too, she loved, as do all girls of sixteen; and, most of all, she enjoyed having her small friends about her to participate in these unexpected favours of fortune. Her frank gratitude made Wallace wince more than once; and, when she thanked him for his goodness, he interrupted her almost roughly.
"Don't, Miss Garth, please! I am not good, and I don't like it!"
At his tone a startled look came into her eyes, and, seeing it, he bent towards her, speaking very gently.
"The fact is, I am very fond of children—small ones like these, and grown-up ones like you."
"Oh, but you wouldn't call me grown up, even in this hat, would you?" she asked, with a happy little laugh. "I think I'm a tiresome sort of age—neither the one thing nor the other."
"And which would you rather be?"
"A child, if I could be a child as I used to be. I was so happy! But that seems a long time ago. I shouldn't like to be a child again as things are now!"
He noted the sadness of her tone, and instantly divined that she was thinking with regret of the old days when her mother was still alive. But he was too tactful to try to seek her confidence as yet.