Bobby's astonishment might have been greater had not his eyes rested, from the first moment of their coming in, on Cerise. Cerise with parted lips, a heightened colour, and the air of a little child at a play she did not quite understand.
She was lovely. French, innocent, lovely as a flower—a new thing in London, he had never seen anything quite like her before. The poverty of the room, Uncle Simon, his worries and troubles, all were banished or eased. She was music, and if Saul could have seen her he would have had no need for David.
Had Uncle Simon added burglary to knocker-snatching, broken into a jeweller's and disposed of his takings to a "fence," committed robbery? All these thoughts strayed over his mind, harmless because of Cerise.
The unfortunate young man, who had fooled so long with girls, had met the girl who had been waiting for him since the beginning of the world. There is always that; she may be blowsy, she may be plain, or lovely like Cerise—she is Fate.
"And here is the big gentleman's card," said Madame, taking a visiting card from her desk, then another and another.
"He gave me three."
Mudd handed the card to Bobby, who read:
"The Hon. Richard Pugeot,
"Pall Mall Place, St. James.
"Guards' Club."