"Eight dollars the bottle. But very fine! They would all like it very much."
At the mention of a concrete price Forbes grew uneasy, and asked outright: "Could you tell me how much—about how much this luncheon is going to cost me?"
Forbes felt ashamed of discussing prices, though many a richer man, especially Enslee, would have fought all along the line and delivered an oration on the extortions of restaurateurs. But Fernand began to compute:
"Let me see; seven cocktels at twenty-five is one-seventy-five. Caviar would be one-twenty-five per person; for seven would be eight-seventy-five. The purée St.-Germain we shall make it special—say, about five dollars. I should recommend the poulet de grain aux cèpes; it is two-fifty per person. You do not really need any légumes, except the asparagus. Oh, this morning what asparagus! I saw it! Asparagus, yes?" Forbes nodded desperately. "That will be seven dollars more; but then you will not wish salade—no, you will not wish salade, though the endive is—no, we will not have endive. For the sweet would you wish special favors? No, it is too much; the Nesselrode pudding is nice. Miss Cabot adores the marrons—good! We might serve cheese, though it is too much. But we will have it ready. Then the coffee is special, and a liqueur, perhaps—yes? Miss Cabot likes the white mint. There will be some cigars for the gentlemen, of course—and the ladies will take their cigarettes with their coffee down the steps here, I presume. Now, let me see." He mumbled his addition a moment, then broke the news. "That makes—about fifty-four-seventy-five. Yes—ah no! we have not added the sherry—one bottle, perhaps two. So you see, Monsieur, it will come only to sixty—sixty-five dollars—roughly."
Forbes thought the word "roughly" appropriate. In his soul there was a sound like the last sough of water in an emptying bathtub. He added mentally the ten dollars he had given Fernand, and the ten dollars he must give the waiter. He wondered if he looked as sick as he felt; as sick as his hundred dollars would look. He had cherished a mad fancy for inviting everybody to dinner, the theater, and a tango supper. If his modest luncheon put him where it did, he wondered where such an evening would have left him. From this point of view he was escaping cheaply. Anyway, he had crossed the Rubicon. He was too poor to be able to afford to skimp. If he had been an Enslee Estate, he could have offered his guests toast and distilled water without being suspected of poverty.
And once committed to the course he had chosen, he would have beggared his family rather than stint his hospitality. He was a gentleman; a fool, perhaps, but a gentleman.
He gave Fernand the order to go ahead. Fernand was upset by the brevity of the time allotted him, but promised to do his best. Forbes cast his eye about for a good table. Fernand put up his hand:
"Miss Cabot has her favorite table. You shall have that, also her captain and her waiter."
Forbes remembered Persis' warning.
"But this luncheon is really in honor of Mrs. Neff," he said.