“Enchanté, madame!” he returned with his easy bow and smile.
“Delightful fellow that!” exclaimed Dr. Dakin, as he stepped into the motor-car after his wife. He spoke with an animation unusual to him. “It’s been a nice evening, hasn’t it, Madge?”
“Very,” she returned shortly, pulling the rug round her, and relapsing into silence.
She was thinking of the Frenchman’s smile, and of his voice. He had beautiful hands, she remembered. Her husband looked at her and sighed a little. He would liked to have discussed the party, but Madge was in one of her moods, and he knew that the attempt would be useless.
“There’s an air of unreality about foreigners,” remarked Mr. Carfax, pulling up the window with a jerk, as the hired brougham turned out of the drive.
“Theatrical, rather—the way that fellow talked, wasn’t it?”
“Quite absurd,” agreed his wife. “I didn’t listen. Miss Page is generally more interesting than she was to-night.”
“Yes. Women do better as a rule, to keep to the subjects that suit them,” announced the Vicar. “Not that Miss Page isn’t a clever woman, I believe. At least, Dakin says so, and he ought to know.”
“I suppose this Monsieur—what’s his name—was one of the friends she made when she was travelling?”