“Are you in bed?” he asked, suddenly.
“Of course — are you?”
“Yes — but I mean — er — you must have other clothes.” Richard smiled again. “I’ve told the people in the hotel to send out to the shops and bring you some things to see. Just choose what you want. Shoes, stockings, and a frock, sort of thing — just for today, you’ll have lots of time to get other things, later.”
“I think you are very kind, Mr. Eaton.”
“Oh, not a bit — but I say, you might call me Richard, will you?”
Marie Lou smiled again. “Well then, Richard, I think that you are one of the very nicest people that I have ever met!” She quickly hung up the receiver, and hopped out of bed.
When Richard called for her, a little after half past one, he was genuinely astonished at the transformation. She had chosen a simple blue frock and hat, but wore them with all the inherited chic that had made De Richleau hail her at once as a Parisienne born. She was admiring herself with childish delight in the long mirror, and swung round quickly as he came in.
“Do you like me?” she asked, gaily.
He smiled. “You look perfectly lovely.” Then he shook his head with mock seriousness, and added: “But I’m afraid you won’t do like that!”
“I will not do?” she said, a little note of anxiety creeping into her voice.