David said that even the just man fell seven times a day; but, anyhow, he was delighted to see her.
“You look it,” was the dry response. “I never knew anybody who threw their heart into their eyes as you do. You will never get on in London if you don’t learn to lie better. When you say that sort of thing you should gush a little and leer—at any rate, when you are talking to a woman.”
“But I mean it,” he vowed. “You can’t tell how nice it is to have some frills on the other side of the table. That hat, now, is a picture.”
“The hair is a bad color to suit, you know.”
“Ah, no, it has the gold of the sun in it. Perhaps I may be phrasing the words awkwardly, but you look ten years younger this morning, Miss L’Estrange.”
She turned her eyes to the ceiling. “Ye gods!” she cried, “if only I had those ten back again!” Then she gave David a coy glance. “I don’t mind betting you half a quid,” she said, “that you are only pleased to see me here because I bring to your mind the possibility of another girl being your vis-a-vis at breakfast.”
“Now you would make me dumb when I am most anxious to talk.”
“Oh, you candid wretch! Why did I come here? Don’t you believe that there are twenty men in London who would give quite a lot if I honored them by this morning call?”
“I do believe it,” said David, gravely, “and that is just why you are here, and not with one of the twenty. You are a far more upright little lady than you profess to be, Miss L’Estrange.”