“Yes.”
“We’ll sit at the same table,” said Dorothy to Miss Biddle.
When Peter got into the carriage that evening he was very blue. “I had only one waltz,” he told himself, “and did not really see anything else of her the whole evening.”
“Is that Miss Biddle as clever as people say she is?” asked Mrs. D’Alloi.
“She is a very unusual woman,” said Peter, “I rarely have known a better informed one.” Peter’s tone of voice carried the inference that he hated unusual and informed women, and as this is the case with most men, his voice presumably reflected his true thoughts.
“I should say so,” said Watts. “At our little table she said the brightest things, and told the best stories. That’s a girl as is a girl. I tried to see her afterwards, but found that Peter was taking an Italian lesson of her.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mrs. D’Alloi.
“I have a chap who breakfasts with me three times a week, to talk Italian, which I am trying to learn,” said Peter, “and Dorothy told Mrs. Biddle, so she offered to talk in it. She has a beautiful accent and it was very good of her to offer, for I knew very little as yet, and don’t think she could have enjoyed it.”
“What do you want with Italian?” asked Mrs. D’Alloi.
“To catch the Italian vote,” said Peter.