Guy
leaned back in his chair and looked around with interest.
"Same old place," he remarked, "and by Jove, there's the young lady from
Austria."
The young lady from Austria paid her bill and departed somewhat hastily.
The Vicomte smiled.
"I think we shall frighten a few of them away to-night!" he remarked.
"The wine! Good! We shall need magnums to drown our regrets, if indeed
our English friends desert us to-morrow. Monsieur Guy Poynton,
unconscious maker of history and savior of your country, I congratulate
you upon your whole skin, and I drink your health."
Guy drank, and, laughing, refilled his glass.
"And to you, the best of amateur conspirators and most charming of
hosts," he said. "Come soon to England and bring your automobile, and we
will conspire against you with a policeman and a stopwatch."
The Vicomte sighed and glanced towards Phyllis.
"In happier circumstances!" he murmured, and then catching the
Marquise's eye, he was silent.
The band played English music, and the chef sent them up a wonderful
omelette. Mademoiselle Ermine, from the Folies Bergeres, danced in the
small space between the tables, and the Vicomte, buying a cluster of
pink roses from the flower-girl, sent them across to her with a diamond
pin in the ribbon.
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