“Alors, allez-vous-en, sivooplay,” she went on; “je n’aime pas qu’un homme me regarde comme ça. Vous me portez de la guigne. Allez-vous-en, ou j’appelle les valets. C’est inouï! Allez-vous-en! Vous avez une de ces figures qui porte de la guigne toujours. Entendez-vous? toujours!”
With that, entirely unconcerned, she resumed her seat, while the young German, who had hitherto been under the impression he had made a conquest, strolled off somewhat alarmed to another table.
My sister I found in the farther rooms watching the trente-et-quarante. “Hullo, Vincent!” she said. “Council over? Dear me, I wish I hadn’t promised Frank not to play; my fingers are simply tingling. However, I’ve been playing in imagination and lost 40,000 francs, so perhaps it’s just as well.”
I drew her to a side seat and soon told her all about Lucy and her arrival, softening down the Bailey Thompson part for fear of alarming her unduly; giving other reasons for the dear girl’s sudden descent on us, all more or less true.
My good sister was as sympathetic as usual, only she entreated me to be sure I was really serious and in earnest this time.
“You know, Vincent,” she said, “you have so often come moaning to me about young ladies, and I have so often asked them to tea and taken them to dances for you, and nothing whatever has come of it.”
“But that hasn’t been my fault,” I answered. “I have simply got tired of them, that’s all. This time I am really in earnest.”
“So you always were!” she laughed, “up to a certain point. Why, you’re a sort of a young lady-taster.”
“Well,” I replied, “how are you to know what sort of cheese you like unless you taste several?”
“Rather hard on the cheese, isn’t it? The process of tasting is apt to leave a mark.”