“I say, how jolly! Do let’s stop here a minute.”
She said, indifferently: “Yes, it’s all right. But we’ve come here to look at pictures.”
The autumn air, blithe and vivacious, elated Philip; and when towards mid-day they stood in the great court-yard of the Louvre, he felt inclined to cry like Flanagan: To hell with art.
“I say, do let’s go to one of those restaurants in the Boul’ Mich’ and have a snack together, shall we?” he suggested.
Miss Price gave him a suspicious look.
“I’ve got my lunch waiting for me at home,” she answered.
“That doesn’t matter. You can eat it tomorrow. Do let me stand you a lunch.”
“I don’t know why you want to.”
“It would give me pleasure,” he replied, smiling.
They crossed the river, and at the corner of the Boulevard St. Michel there was a restaurant.