Was he willing?
Was he?
Jefferson's face fairly glowed.

He ran back to his table on the _terrasse_ to settle for his Vermouth, astonished the waiter by not stopping to notice the short change he gave him, and rushed back to the carriage.
A dirty little Italian girl, shrewd enough to note the young man's attention to the younger of the American women, wheedled up to the carriage and thrust a bunch of flowers in Jefferson's face.
"_Achetez des fleurs, monsieur, pour la jolie dame ?_" Down went Jefferson's hand in his pocket and, filling the child's hand with small silver, he flung the flowers in the carriage.

Then he turned inquiringly to Shirley for instructions so he could direct the _cocher_.

Mrs.Blake said she would get out here.

Her dressmaker was close by, in the Rue Auber, and she would walk back to the hotel to meet them at seven o'clock.