"Why don't you begin your soup ?" he asked.
She laughed quietly, and commenced at once with childlike obedience.
"Has Mr.Arthur said anything to you since ?" he inquired presently.
For a short moment she hesitated--then she admitted it.
"When ?" "Monday evening." "Oh--the day you had lunch with me." "Yes." "What did he say ?" Again she hesitated.
"What right have I to ask--eh ?" he interrupted before she could frame the words to reply.

"Isn't that what you're sticking over?
Of course I've no right but interest.

You brought me the interest, you know--but I apologize for it all the same.

Berthe!" "Oui--Monsieur." "Maquereaux grilles; and I want something to drink." Berthe went to the bottom of the stairs, leaning on the third step with her hand and calling up to the room above.
"Alexandre!" "Why does she do that ?" inquired Sally.
"She's calling for Alexandre, the waiter who runs out across the street--obediently but slowly--with your pennies to buy your wine.
They don't have a license here." Alexandre made his appearance with a big red cardboard cover in his hand, which looked as if it held a copy of a weekly paper.

This was the wine list.