“Did you and your father have your supper, Dulcie?”
“My father went out to eat at Grogan’s.”
“How about you?”
“I can find something.”
“Why not dine with me?” he suggested.
The child stared, bewildered, then went a little pale.
“Shall we have a dinner party for two—you and I, Dulcie? What do you say?”
She said nothing, but her big grey eyes were fixed on him in a passion of inquiry.
“A real party,” he repeated. “Let the people get their own mail and packages until your father returns. Nobody’s going to sneak in, anyway. Or, if that won’t do, I’ll call up Grogan’s and tell your father to come back because you are going to dine in my studio with me. Do you know the telephone number? Very well; get Grogan’s for me. I’ll speak to your father.”