"M'sieu Zhames, Mees Annesley rides thees morning. You will pre_pairre_ yourself according,"—and she rattled on in her absurd native tongue (every other native tongue is absurd to us, you know!)—
"He is charming and handsome,
With his uniform and saber;
And his fine black eyes
Look love as he rides by!"
while the chef in the kitchen glared furiously at his omelette souffle, and vowed terrible things to M'sieu Zhames if he looked at Celeste more than twice a day.
"Good morning," said M'sieu Zhames, hanging up his towel. His face glowed as the result of the vigorous rubbing it had received.
"Bon jour!"—admiringly.
"Don't give me any of your bong joors, Miss,"—stolidly. "There's only one language for me, and that's English."
"Merci! You Anglaises are so conceit'! How you like me to teach you French, eh, M'sieu Zhames?"
"Not for me,"—shaking his head. She was very pretty, and under ordinary circumstances . . . He did not finish the thought, but I will for him. Under ordinary circumstances, M'sieu Zhames would have kissed her.
"No teach you French? Non? Extra_orrd_inaire!" She tripped away, laughing, while the chef tugged at his royal and M'sieu Zhames whistled.
"Hang the witch!" the new groom murmured. "Her mistress must be very generous, or very positive of her own charms, to keep a sprite like this maid about her. I wonder if I'll run into Karloff?" Karloff! The name chilled him, somehow. What was Karloff to her? Had he known that she was to be in Washington for the winter? What irony, if fate should make him the groom and Karloff the bridegroom! If Karloff loved her, he could press his suit frankly and openly. And, as matters stood, what chance on earth had he, Warburton? "Chuck was right; I've made a mistake, and I am beginning to regret it the very first morning." He snapped his fingers and proceeded to the right wing, where the horses were.