It was a very easily answered question, apparently, but Peter was silent again.
“It was coming up here,” he said finally.
“What is he trying to keep back?” asked Miss De Voe mentally. “I suppose some of the down-town places are not quite—but he wouldn’t—” then she said out loud: “I wonder if you men do as women do, when they dine alone? Just live on slops. Now, what did you order to-night? Were you an ascetic or a sybarite?”
“Usually,” said Peter, “I eat a very simple dinner.”
“And to-night?”
“Why do you want to know about to-day?”
“Because I wish to learn where you dined, and thought I could form some conclusion from your menu.” Miss De Voe laughed, so as to make it appear a joke, but she knew very well that she was misbehaving.
“I didn’t reply to your question,” said Peter, “because I would have preferred not. But if you really wish to know, I’ll answer it.”
“Yes. I should like to know.” Miss De Voe still smiled.
“I haven’t dined.”