"Yes, monsieur." The maid retired.
"I want something to eat," I remarked as we passed down the long furniture-piled passage leading to the street.
"So do I. We have that table at Harvey's."
"I know; but—"
"That's a fact," he put in. "I mentioned her name. We can't very well go there without her."
"And all dressed up like a pair of goats."
"No."
"There's always the hotel."
"I don't want to go back there—not now."
"Neither do I. Let's make it the Shoreham," I suggested as we emerged upon the street.