"Oh, surely not?" she dissented.
"But yes!" A foreign turn of phrase occasionally betrayed his half-French nationality. "But yes—I'm too English to please her. It's an example of the charming inconsistency of women. My mother loves the English; she chooses an Englishman for her husband. But she desires her son to be a good Frenchman! . . . She is delightful, my mother."
Dinner proceeded leisurely. Nan noticed that her companion drank very little and exhibited a most unmasculine lack of interest in the inspirations of the chef. Yet she knew intuitively that he was alertly conscious of the quiet perfection of it all. She dropped into a brief reverie of which the man beside her was the subject and from which his voice presently recalled her.
"I hope you're going to play to us this evening?"
"I expect so—if Kitty wishes it."
"That's sufficient command for most of those to whom she gives the privilege of friendship, isn't it?"
There was a quiet ring of sincerity in his voice as he spoke of Kitty, and Nan's heart warmed towards him.
"Yes," she assented eagerly. "One can't say 'no' to her. But I don't care for it—playing in a drawing-room after dinner."
"No." Again that quick comprehension of his. "The chosen few and the chosen moment are what you like."
"How do you know?" she asked impulsively.