Lloyd-Jones, who was lighting a cigarette, and he turned abruptly to Miss
Reynier. His voice was as serious as if Parliament, at least, had been
hanging on his words.

"May I call to-morrow, Miss Reynier, at about twelve?"

"Oh, I say," put in Jones, "all of you come to luncheon with me at the
Little Gray Fox--will you? Capital place and all sorts of nice people.
Do come. About one."

Van Camp could have slain him.

"I think my proposition a prior one," he remarked with dogged precision;
"but, of course, Miss Reynier must decide." He recovered his temper
enough to add, quite pleasantly, considering the circumstances, "Unless
Madame Reynier will take my part?" turning to the older woman.

"Oh, no, not fair," shouted Jones. "Madame Reynier's always on my side.
Aren't you, Madame?"

Madame Reynier smiled inscrutably. "I'm always on the side of virtue in
distress," she said.

"That's me, then, isn't it? The way you're abusing me, Mademoiselle,
listening here to Van Camp all the evening!"

But Mélanie, tired, perhaps, of being patiently tactful, settled the
matter. "I can't go to luncheon with anybody, to-morrow," she protested.
"I've had a touch of that arch-enemy, indigestion, you see; and I can't
do anything but my prescribed exercises, nor drink anything but distilled