In that instant, Bertram himself cast the die. This had been the debate across the soup: 85
“I’m going over to speak to her,” said Bertram.
“I shouldn’t butt in,” said Mark. “It’s a balanced party.”
“Oh, I shan’t try to stay—coming along?” He did not wait to see whether or not Mark was following.
Miss Gray greeted him more cordially, altogether more sweetly, than she had ever done in their meetings on the ranch, and passed him about the circle for introductions. Noticing, then, that Mark had not followed, Bertram turned and beckoned with impatience. Mark crossed the room in some embarrassment.
“Is this your first visit to the Hotel Marseillaise?” asked Mrs. Masters. Mark hesitated; but Bertram laughed and beamed down on her from his brown eyes.
“Only about my two hundred and first,” he said. “Mr. Heath and I dine here every night we haven’t the price to dine anywhere else.”
Masters, with that ready tact which he needed in order to live with Mrs. Masters, rushed into the breach.
“And I should call it about my four hundred and first,” he said. “It’s back to the old 86 scenes for the night. I haven’t tasted real cabbage soup since the last time—it has been a canned imitation. For goodness’ sake join us and tell us the news!”
“Do!” said Miss Waddington with animation, and “Please,” said those two escorts who do not figure in this story. Eleanor said nothing, but her expression was an invitation.