She rose from her chair.
"I will take a carriage," she said, "and fetch my things."
"Let us say that Cafe Maston, in the Boulevard des Italiennes, at
half-past seven then," he decided. "I shall be waiting for you there,
and in the meantime, if you will help yourself--pray don't look like
that. It is a very small affair, after all, and you can pay me back if
you will."
She took the pocket-book and looked up at him with a little impulsive
movement. Her voice shook, her eyes were very soft and melting.
"I cannot thank you, Sir John," she said. "I shall never be able to
thank you."
"Won't you postpone the attempt, then?" he said gallantly, "until I
have done something to deserve your gratitude? You will not
forget--seven-thirty, Cafe Maston, Boulevard des Italiennes."
She drove off in a little _fiacre_, nodding and smiling at Sir John,
who remained upon the Avenue. He too, when she had disappeared, called
a carriage.
"Hotel Ritz," he said mechanically to the coachman. "If only her
sister is half as pretty, no wonder that she has set the Parisians
talking."