"Who? Us? Vhy, I was chust thinking I'd tell him to hit up the pace a little. Are you scared?"
Her pride would not permit confession.
"Oh, no," she lied; "I'm not scared."
"But you are shivering."
"I guess I'm kind of chilly."
"All righd. Chust vait a minute un' ve'll soon be at the restaurant un' varm up. You'll like that restaurant: it's von of the swellest in town."
"But it's pretty late," she ventured. "Your friend—are you sure he——"
"Who? The minister?" Max patted her hand with reassuring affection. "Don't you vorry about him. He's all for me, und I'll get him out of bed chust as soon as ve've ordered our supper."
A few blocks more, and Max, aided by a marvelously tall person in a wonderful uniform, was helping her, with what she considered an elaborate courtesy, to dismount from the taxi, pass under a glass awning and, through a changing stream of hurrying waiters and arriving and departing guests terribly arrayed, to climb a softly carpeted stair and enter a brilliant balcony open to the street and full of chattering men and women eating and drinking at a score of tables. Even in her fright, it was with a touch of admiration that she observed how Max—her Max—seemed to be known to the immediately attentive waiters, and how, smiling, they hurried to make way for him.
They secured a corner table, a relatively quiet corner table, and there, with a servant standing by, pencil in hand, and with a huge double-paged menu-card before each of them, made ready for their meal.