us?" he asked of the young man with a friendliness to which everything
appeared to minister.

"Well, that's a handsome offer," George Flack replied while Delia put it
on record that they had each eaten about thirty cakes.

"Well, I wondered what you were doing so long. But never mind your
cakes. It's twenty minutes past six, and the table d'hote's on time."

"You don't mean to say you dine at the table d'hote!" Mr. Flack cried.

"Why, don't you like that?"--and Francie's candour of appeal to their
comrade's taste was celestial.

"Well, it isn't what you must build on when you come to Paris. Too many
flowerpots and chickens' legs."

"Well, would you like one of these restaurants?" asked Mr. Dosson. "_I_
don't care--if you show us a good one."

"Oh I'll show you a good one--don't you worry." Mr. Flack's tone was
ever that of keeping the poor gentleman mildly but firmly in his place.

"Well, you've got to order the dinner then," said Francie.

"Well, you'll see how I could do it!" He towered over her in the pride
of this feat.

"He has got an interest in some place," Delia declared. "He has taken us
to ever so many stores where he gets his commission."