If they do not come by the end of that time, I
will dine alone."
"Will Monsieur please to regard the menu?"
"Yes, thanks."
He put it in my hand with an appetizing bow, which would have been
almost as good as an _hors d'oeuvre_ had my mood been appreciative of
delicacies. But it was not; neither could I fix my mind upon the
ordering of a dinner. My eyes would keep jumping to the glass door at
the far end of the room. "I want the best dinner the house can serve,"
I said, meanly shifting responsibility. "Not too long a dinner,
but--oh well, you may tell the chef I depend upon his choice."
"I quite understand, Monsieur. A dinner to please a lady, is it not?"
"Yes. Something to please a lady." Was there not the Boy's sister to
be catered for in case she should come? In thinking of him I must not
forget her. But then, how improbable it was that my poor dinner would
be tasted by either!
"And for wine, Monsieur?"
I ordered at random the brand of champagne which had seemed like
nectar to the Boy and me that evening in far away Aosta, when the
compact of our friendship was first made. But yes, certainly, it was
to be had. And it should in an all little moment be on the ice.
The waiter glided away to make that little moment less, and I was left
to measure it and its brothers. One after another they passed. What a
pity the moment family is such a large one! I stared at the glass
door.
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