Mechanically he began to stuff it up his sleeve.

It was his napkin.
Zora's laugh brought him to earth--to happy earth.
It is a pleasant thing to linger _tete-a-tete_ over lunch on the terrace of the Hotel de Paris.

Outside is the shade of the square, the blazing sunshine beyond the shadow; the fountain and the palms and the doves; the white gaiety of pleasure houses; the blue-gray mountains cut sharp against the violet sky.

Inside, a symphony of cool tones: the pearl of summer dresses; the snow, crystal, and silver of the tables; the tender green of lettuce, the yellows of fruit, the soft pink of salmon; here and there a bold note of color--the flowers in a woman's hat, the purples and topazes of wine.

Nearer still to the sense is the charm of privacy.