“Poor darling!” said Sally, finding speech. “Ask him what's the matter.”
The young man looked at her doubtfully.
“You know,” he said, “I don't enjoy chatting with this blighter. I mean to say, it's a bit of an effort. I don't know why it is, but talking French always makes me feel as if my nose were coming off. Couldn't we just leave him to have his cry out by himself?”
“The idea!” said Sally. “Have you no heart? Are you one of those fiends in human shape?”
He turned reluctantly to Jules, and paused to overhaul his vocabulary.
“You ought to be thankful for this chance,” said Sally. “It's the only real way of learning French, and you're getting a lesson for nothing. What did he say then?”
“Something about losing something, it seemed to me. I thought I caught the word perdu.”
“But that means a partridge, doesn't it? I'm sure I've seen it on the menus.”
“Would he talk about partridges at a time like this?”
“He might. The French are extraordinary people.”