"But I'm wonderfully little tired!" she continued. "It all went so splendidly, without a single hitch. Mr. Crayford must be enchanted. I only saw him for a moment coming out after I had congratulated Miss Mardon. There were so many people. There was no time to hear all he thought. But there could not be two opinions. Claudie, do you feel quite finished?"
"No," said Claude, in a strong voice, which broke in almost strangely upon her lively chattering.
Both Charmian and Alston looked at him for an instant with a sort of inquiry, which in Charmian was almost furtive.
"That's good!" Charmian began, after a little pause. "I was almost afraid—here's the champagne! We ought to drink a toast to-night, I think. Suppose we—"
"We'll drink to Alston's career," interrupted Claude. And he lifted his glass.
"Alston!" said Charmian, swiftly following his example.
"And now no more toasts for the present. They seem too formal when only we three are together. And we know what we wish each other without them. Oyster soup! You see, I remembered what you are fond of, Claudie. I recollect ages ago in London I once met Mr. Whistler. It was when I was very small. He came to lunch with Madre. By the way, Claude, did you take Madre's cablegram with you when you went to answer your call?"
"Yes."
"I thought you had, because I couldn't find it. Well Mr. Whistler came to lunch with us, Alston. And he talked about nothing but oysters."
"Was he painting them at the time? A nocturne of natives?"