“That’s good,” she laughed. “Now, as a reward, I’ll drive you down to the boulevard. The victoria is outside. Where will you go?”
I reflected a moment, then told her I was on my way to my chambers.
“Very well,” she replied, “I’ll drop you there. I have to go down to the Rue de la Paix.”
“To the couturière, of course?”
“Yes,” she said, with that merry twinkle in her dark eyes, “you’ve guessed it the first time. It’s a charming gown; but I know father will pull a wry face when he finds the bill on his table.”
“But you can stand any amount of wry faces as long as you get pretty dresses, can’t you?” I laughed, handing her into the carriage and taking a seat beside her.
Then she opened her sunshade and lolled back with an air of indolence and luxury as we drove along together.