“Get out of it, can’t you, and let me take care of it for you, and that boa thing you have got round your neck.”
She took it off, and the boa, and gave them to him.
“I am afraid you will drop the boa, and let the veil work under the seat,” she said in a fright, as he nipped them both in one great hand. So he pinned them, boa, veil, and all, to his grey speckled trousers with her hat-pin, and sat all through the rest of the concert, looking at the bunch at his knee. I never saw a man like that before, he didn’t seem at all like the people who come to Cinque Cento House. I didn’t seem to see him there, and I rather thought I should like to. Why, he would make George straighten his back!
“I say,” he said presently, “do you like gramophones?”
“I love them,” said Christina, and I knew it was a lie.
“My people have a perfectly splendid one!” said he, and his whole face lighted up. “I wish you could hear it.”
Christina wished she could, and he said—
“Oh, then, we will manage it somehow.”
When the concert was over he didn’t bolt as he had said he wanted to, but gave us ices, Christina one, me two, and then Christina put the bag on again.
“If you were in my motor in that thing in a shower you’d get drowned,” said he. “Why, it would hold the water. I should like to drive you in my motor all the same. I say, can’t I call on you?”