"I've ordered the dinner; I suppose that'll do," he remarked with a man-of-the-world air.
Millie smiled her acquiescence. Bindle, not to be outdone in savoir-faire, picked up the menu and regarded it with wrinkled brow.
"Well, Charlie," he remarked at length, "it's beyond me. I s'pose it's all right; but it might be the German for cat an' dog for all I know. I 'opes," he added anxiously, "there ain't none o' them long white sticks with green tops, wot's always tryin' to kiss their tails. Them things does me."
"Asparagus," cried Millie, proud of her knowledge, "I love it."
"I ain't nothink against it," said Bindle, recalling his experience at Oxford, "if they didn't expect you to suck it like a sugar stick. You wants a mouth as big as a dustbin, if you're a-goin' to catch the end."
When the wine arrived Charlie Dixon breathed a sigh of relief, as he recognised in its foam and amber an old friend with which he had become acquainted in France.
"Oh! what is it?" cried Millie, clasping her hands in excitement.
"Champagne!" said Charlie Dixon.
"Oh, Charlie!" cried Millie, gazing at her lover in proud wonder. "Isn't it—isn't it most awfully expensive?"
Charlie Dixon laughed. Bindle looked at him quizzically.