All the time she talked—and it was principally of herself—Hugh could see that she was trying to find out more about him. For his part it pleased him to baffle her. Her manner was breezy, her voice ringing; he liked her, and judging by the smiling regard in her nut-brown eyes she liked him. It was nearly seven o’clock when she said: “There now, you’ve been awfully decent to me. Perhaps, you wouldn’t mind driving me to my hotel.”
Hugh called a voiture and accompanied her to the Pension Pizzicato. At the door she held his hand.
“I say, if you aren’t very comfortable where you’re staying, why not come here? I wish you would. There’s such a nice room next mine, and not too dear. Do say you’ll take it.”
Hugh hesitated. “I’ll think over it.”
“Yes, do. And I say,—won’t you lunch with me to-morrow?”
“I’m afraid I can’t. I’ve got a friend coming to see me.”
“Bring your friend, too. Tell him you know a very jolly Englishwoman you would like him to meet.”
“I’ll see. I’ll ask my friend.”
She shook his hand warmly. So as not to look cheap he took the voiture back. It cost him twenty francs, which with the thirty francs for tea made fifty.
“A charming woman,” he thought, “but expensive,—damned expensive. I mustn’t cultivate her.”