That was not, perhaps, the whole truth, but on such matters, at such moments, one need not be a stickler. She smiled--she had an uncommonly pleasant smile; it reminded me of someone, somewhere, though I could not think who. She rested her elbows on the table, placing her hands palm to palm.
"Then I say Ordino's."
When she said that I had a shock. I stared.
"Excuse me--what--what did you say?"
She smiled again.
"I suppose you'll think I'm silly, and I daresay you've never heard of the place, and I myself don't know where it is, and anyhow it mayn't be at all nice--mind I'm not giving it any sort of character. But if the place is still in existence, since it is Christmas Day and we are to lunch at a restaurant, if the choice is left to me, I say again--Ordino's."
"May I ask if you've any special reason for--for choosing this particular place?"
There was an interval of silence before she answered. Although I had purposely turned my back to her I had a sort of feeling that there was an odd look upon her face.
"Yes, I have a special reason, in a sort of a way. When we've lunched perhaps I'll tell it you. If the lunch has been a very bad one then you'll say--quite rightly--that you'll never again rely upon a woman's reason where a restaurant's concerned."
It was--I had to hark back into my forgotten mental lumber to think how many years it was since I had entered Ordino's door. I had told myself that I would never enter it again. And yet here was this stranger suddenly proposing that I should visit it once more, on Christmas Day of all days in the year. Why, the last time I fed there--the very last time--it was a Christmas Day.