"John Turner will be there," I said, with a laugh, "and perhaps we may hear something that will interest you—at all events, he will talk of money, since you are so absorbed in it."
So my luncheon party formed itself into a rather queer partie carrée; for I knew John Turner's contempt for Alphonse, and hoped that he might cherish a yet stronger feeling against Devar.
At the hour appointed that gentleman arrived, and was pleased to be very gracious and patronising. His manner towards me was that of a man of the world who is kindly disposed towards a country bumpkin. I received him in the smaller smoking-room, where we were alone, and were still sitting there when Alphonse came. It was quite evident that the little Frenchman appreciated the great English club.
"Now, in Paris," he said, "we copy all this. But it is not the same thing. We have our clubs, but they are quite different—they are but cafés—and why?"
He looked at us in the deepest distress.
"Because," I suggested, "you are by nature too sociable. Frenchman cannot meet without being polite to each other, so the independence of a club is lost. Englishmen can share a cabin, and still be distant."
"The furniture is the same," said Giraud, looking round with a reflective eye, "but there is a different feeling in the air. It is different from the Paris clubs. Do you know Paris, Monsieur Devar?" Devar paused.
"Of course, I have been there," he replied, looking at the carpet. "What Englishman has not?"
"MR. DEVAR," REPEATED TURNER, "LET ME DRAW YOUR ATTENTION TO THE DOOR!"