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Page 5
Yes; he should have pondered that despatch from Vienna. But such
a girl! It adds nothing at all to say that her hair was a dull
sort of gold; her eyes violet. Many girls have been similarly
blessed. It was her manner; the sweet way she looked with those
violet eyes through a battalion of head waiters and resplendent
managers; her air of being at home here in the Carlton or anywhere
else that fate might drop her down. Unquestionably she came from
oversea--from the States.
She stepped forward into the restaurant. And now slipped also into
view, as part of the background for her, a middle-aged man, who
wore the conventional black of the statesman. He, too, bore the
American label unmistakably. Nearer and nearer to West she drew,
and he saw that in her hand she carried a copy of the Daily Mail.
West's waiter was a master of the art of suggesting that no table
in the room was worth sitting at save that at which he held ready
a chair. Thus he lured the girl and her companion to repose not
five feet from where West sat. This accomplished, he whipped out
his order book, and stood with pencil poised, like a reporter in
an American play.
"The strawberries are delicious," he said in honeyed tones.
The man looked at the girl, a question in his eyes.
"Not for me, dad," she said. "I hate them! Grapefruit, please."
As the waiter hurried past, West hailed him. He spoke in loud
defiant tones.
"Another plate of the strawberries!" he commanded. "They are
better than ever to-day."
For a second, as though he were part of the scenery, those violet
eyes met his with a casual impersonal glance. Then their owner
slowly spread out her own copy of the Mail.
"What's the news?" asked the statesman, drinking deep from his
glass of water.
"Don't ask me," the girl answered, without looking up. "I've found
something more entertaining than news. Do you know--the English
papers run humorous columns! Only they aren't called that. They're
called Personal Notices. And such notices!" She leaned across
the table. "Listen to this: 'Dearest: Tender loving wishes to my
dear one. Only to be with you now and always. None "fairer in my
eyes."--'"
The man locked uncomfortably about him. "Hush!" he pleaded. "It
doesn't sound very nice to me."
"Nice!" cried the girl. "Oh, but it is--quite nice. And so
deliciously open and aboveboard. 'Your name is music to me. I
love you more--'"
"What do we see to-day?" put in her father hastily.
"We're going down to the City and have a look at the Temple.
Thackeray lived there once--and Oliver Goldsmith--"
"All right--the Temple it is."
"Then the Tower of London. It's full of the most romantic
associations. Especially the Bloody Tower, where those poor little
princes were murdered. Aren't you thrilled?"
"I am if you say so."
"You're a dear! I promise not to tell the people back in Texas
that you showed any interest in kings and such--if you will show
just a little. Otherwise I'll spread the awful news that you
took off your hat when King George went by."
The statesman smiled. West felt that he, who had no business to,
was smiling with him.
The waiter returned, bringing grapefruit, and the strawberries West
had ordered. Without another look toward West, the girl put down
her paper and began her breakfasting. As often as he dared, however,
West looked at her. With patriotic pride he told himself: "Six
months in Europe, and the most beautiful thing I've seen comes from
back home!"
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