the appropriateness of his menu. But on this occasion Madame de Corantin
seemed to be oblivious of menu and of Bobby alike. She sat apparently
lost in thought, and, eating mechanically what was placed before her,
replied with monosyllables to Bobby's attempts at conversation. Then,
of a sudden, her face cleared like the sky on an April day.

"Pardon me, my friend, I fear I have been very ill-mannered. I have
received an annoying letter, and was thinking about it."

Bobby was full of concern. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked.

She looked at him with a half-smile. "Who knows? Perhaps!"

"Do tell me. You know I long to be of use to you, and there is so little
that I can do."

"But who could do more? No lonely woman could ask for a more devoted
cavalier." Her appreciative glance was nectar to Bobby. So susceptible
was he to the expression of her eyes, he would have been powerless to
resist anything they asked of him. But he had never been put to the test;
on the contrary, she had accepted with demur even the comparatively
trifling services he had been able to render her. She was most
punctilious in regard to any expense to which he was put, and insisted,
to his discomfiture, on paying her share of everything. At first they had
little quarrels about it, but Bobby had been compelled to give way to her
firm but gracious insistence.

"Tell me, my friend"--her eyes played full upon him as she spoke--"who
was that gentleman you were talking to just before dinner?"