"You know the Café de Madrid, of course?" said Miss Lambert, when Glynn had taken a seat, as she put her music together and closed the piano.
"Yes, I know it well; it is a capital place to dine at."
"On such a fine evening it is delightful to be among the trees; they are quite green already, and there is a charming walk down to the river. We must try and persuade Madame Davilliers and the dear father to walk; do you mind walking after dinner?" She sat down suddenly while she spoke and looked straight at him gravely, as if it were a question of the last importance. "Does she think me an old fogy?" thought Glynn, and answered with a smile, "I have not yet reached that period of life when repose after eating is essential."
"No," still considering him gravely, "you are much younger than my father. When he spoke of you as a comrade I thought you must be about the same age. Is it long since you met?"
"Quite ten years."
"That is a long time. But my father is always young—I sometimes think he is younger than I am—nothing depresses him, he is so full of resource; and enjoys as if he were but five-and-twenty."
"Yes; I was always struck with his remarkable readiness. Do you remember America?"
"America? I never was in America. I was born in Australia, but my father——Ah! here he is," looking out of the window as the carriage was heard to stop. She took up her gloves, which were lying beside her sunshade, and began to put them on. In another moment the door opened to admit Lambert, who came in with an expression of radiant satisfaction.
"Glynn, my fine fellow! I am delighted to see you. Has my daughter told you we have changed our plans, and substituted a little dinner at the Madrid instead of baking ourselves at the Comique? All right, come along, Madame Davilliers and 'Toinette are waiting for us below; they have brought the cousin, young Henri Le Clerc, Elsie, and who should I stumble on just at the corner of the Rue d'Aguesseau, but Vincent, going to dine all alone by himself; so I made him jump up on the box. We'll be a nice little party; you ladies will have a cavalier apiece, and one to spare, that's myself; I am only a super nowadays; don't forget a wrap for coming home." Elsie locked the drawer of an ornamental bureau, put the key in her pocket, and declared herself ready; and Lambert led the way down-stairs. Arrived at the entrance, Glynn was duly presented to Madame and Mademoiselle Davilliers, in whom he recognized the ladies who were with Miss Lambert at Auteuil; they smiled and bowed most graciously, expressing their delight at M. Lambert's change of plans in rather shrill-toned raptures. After a little confusion it was settled that Mr. Vincent, a very elaborately got-up continentalized American, with fair hair, moustaches, and complexion, and rather sleepy pale blue eyes, should escort Madame Davilliers and her daughter. While Miss Lambert, her father, Glynn, and young Le Clerc, a good-looking boy in the polytechnique uniform, should occupy another open carriage.
Glynn fancied he observed an expression of decided relief in Elsie's face as Vincent took the seat assigned him, and she gave her hand to her father, who assisted her with careful politeness to her place; it was absurd to feel pleased by so trifling an indication—yet Glynn did feel pleased.