On my way back
to the hotel, I determined to forget everything except that I was going
to dine alone with the one companion I would have chosen first out of the
whole world. In that frame of mind I bathed, changed my clothes, and made
my way a little before the appointed time to the Cafe Francais.
I found out my table, sent for some more flowers, and ordered the wine.
Then I descended to the hall just in time to meet my guest.
She wore nothing over her evening dress save a lace scarf, which she
untwisted as we ascended the stairs. For some reason I fancied that she
was not very well pleased with me. Her greeting was certainly cool.
"Is this your favorite restaurant?" I asked, as the head-waiter ushered
us to our table.
"I have no favorite restaurant," she answered; "only to-night I felt in
the humor for French cooking--and French service."
I fancied that there was some meaning in the latter part of her sentence;
but at that time I did not understand. I had ordered the dinner
carefully; and I was glad to see that, although she ate sparingly, she
showed appreciation.
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