He thrust an arm about Vestalia’s waist, and gave it a boisterous though fleeting squeeze.
“Why, you dear little canary-bird of a creature, do you suppose I’ve been forgetting you?” he cried. “Haven’t I been thinking every minute of the touch of your arm in mine? Haven’t I been cursing that old windbag ceaselessly because he was interrupting our birthday? Look up at me! Truly now, aren’t you ashamed?”
She suffered him to raise her face, his finger under her chin, and she made a brave effort to smile hack at the glance he bent upon her. “If it is truly—oh, ever so truly—still our birthday—the same as it was before,” she made wistful answer.
“It is a hundred times more our birthday than ever!” he protested stoutly.
An elderly keeper in uniform shuffled his way into the room.
“Well then,” whispered Vestalia, “let’s go somewhere else to celebrate the rest of it. All these stone animals and images and mummies—I don’t feel as if they brought me luck on my birthday.”
So they wandered forth into the sunshine again, and Mosscrop confessed himself glad of the change. Where should they go? He found himself empty of suggestion. Responsibility for the decorous entertainment of a young lady in the daytime was a novel experience, and he said so.
“Oh, let us just stroll about,” she urged. “I love these old Bloomsbury Squares. They are so stupid.”
Luncheon hour came, and presented itself to Mosscrop as a welcome pretext to take a hansom. A certain formless apprehension of meeting some one he knew—though why this should be dreaded he could not for the life of him have told—had alloyed the pleasure of his ramble. They drove to another restaurant, this time a larger place in a more pretentious quarter—and though they had a little table to themselves, the room was full of others.
David knew about luncheons as well as breakfasts. He gave the waiter very minute instructions about having a grouse split and grilled, and he ran his eye over the list of champagnes with the confident discrimination of an expert. “I will give that number 34a one more trial,” he said to the butler. “Cool it to 48, and we will see what it is like then.”