I gave her into the keeping of the manager of the hotel and did not see her again until she came down somewhat late for dinner. I met her in the vestibule. She wore a closely fitting brown dress, which in colour matched the bronze of her hair and in shape showed off her lithe and generous figure.
I thought it my duty to cheer her by a well-deserved compliment.
“Are you aware,” I said, with a low bow, “that you're a remarkably handsome woman?”
A perfectly unnecessary light came into her eyes and a superfluous flush to her cheeks. “If I'm at least that to you, I'm happy,” she said.
“You're that to the dullest vision. Follow the maitre d'hotel,” said I, as we entered the salle a manger, “and I'll walk behind in reflected glory.”
We made an effective entrance. I declare there was a perceptible rattle of soup-spoons laid down by the retired Colonels and maiden ladies as we passed by. Colonel Bunnion returned my nod of greeting in the most distracted fashion and gazed at Lola with the frank admiration of British Cavalry. I felt foolishly proud and exhilarated, and gave her at my table the seat commanding a view of the room. I then ordered a bottle of champagne, which I am forbidden to touch.
“It isn't often that I have the pleasure of dining with you,” I said by way of apology.
“This is the very first time,” she said.
“And it's not going to be the last,” I declared.
“I thought you were going to ship me back to Marseilles to-morrow.”