"Well, as it happens, that is the one wine I take."
The dinner proceeded most pleasantly. To his own astonishment, Curtis worked up sufficient appetite to enjoy the meal, though he would have stuffed himself remorselessly to save his charming vis-à-vis from the slightest embarrassment. But he only sipped the wine, for a sixth sense warned him that he must keep a clear head that night.
By inference rather than plain statement, for a deft waiter was constantly coming in and out, he supplied Hermione with glimpses of his own career, and ascertained from her that she had secured Marcelle's services through the good offices of a lady who was a fellow-passenger on the ship.
"She comes from New Orleans, but, notwithstanding her name, she does not speak French," said Hermione. "I think that rather accounts for——"
She stopped, and Curtis did not press for an explanation, but she continued, after a second's pause:
"Marcelle did not like Monsieur de Courtois. I imagined she was annoyed because he always conversed with me in a language she did not understand."
"Then I shall avoid Chinese," he laughed.
"Marcelle——"
Again she hesitated. She was positively dismayed by consciousness of the imminent disclosure, yet too well-bred even to appear to be withholding confidences.
"You have won Marcelle's golden opinion already," she said. "But let us talk of something else."