Her breast heaved and fell beneath its black lace and jet, and she turned her fine eyes upon him with an expression more eloquent than any words of assurance and affection.
Then, after a brief silence, he glanced around at the crowd about them, saying—
“It is impossible to speak further of our private affairs here. You will dine with me to-night. Where shall it be?”
“Let’s dine at the Eden. There’s plenty of air there. We can get a table facing the sea, and stay to the performance afterwards. Shall we?” she asked, her face brightening.
“Certainly,” he replied. “I’ll go across to the hotel and dress, while you go along home and put on another frock. I know you won’t go in black to a café chantant,” he added, laughing.
“You’ll call for me?” she asked.
“Yes, at eight.”
As these words fell from his lips a man’s voice in English exclaimed—
“Hulloa, Charlie! Who’d have thought of finding you here?”
Armytage looked up quickly, and, to his surprise, found standing before him his old college chum and fellow clubman, Frank Tristram.