“I should prefer you not to see your old friend playing the solemn fool.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Well! One can’t have everything, and I have five thousand a year. It’s enough to make one comfortable.”
“But not happy,” she said gently.
“That, till forty, depends on one’s temperament. Afterwards on one’s dinner. I’m very happy to-night. Your cook was chosen with your usual discretion.”
She laughed.
“You will be coming through Paris this winter?”
“Not to stay. Paris hurts me a little, old woman as I am. On my way back, in the spring perhaps.”
He kissed her hand. “Most certainly in the spring. It’s au revoir.”
III
An hour after her friend had gone, Miss Page sat by the open window in her bedroom. The room was full of moonlight, for she had put out the candles and drawn back the curtains.