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"Going out?" inquired the other, without turning. "Yes," he said, but lingered a moment over Elliott's shoulder, watching him pick out the lights in his sketch with a bit of bread. "To-morrow is Sunday," he observed after a moment's silence. "Well?" inquired Elliott. "Have you seen Colette?" "No, I will to-night. She and Rowden and Jacqueline are coming to Boulant's.
Now I'm going to Boulant's, and as usual I shall make excuses for you and arrange the affair, and I don't care a continental where you are going, but, by the skull of the studio skeleton! if you don't turn up to-morrow with your sketching-kit under one arm and Cecile under the other, if you don't turn up in good shape, I'm done with you, and the rest can think what they please. Good-night."
A cab was drawn up before Boulant's, and a pretty girl aided by Elliott jumped out. "Valentine!" cried the girl, "come with us!" "I can't," she said, stopping a moment "I have a rendezvous at Mignon's." "Not Victor?" cried the girl, laughing, but she passed with a little shiver, nodding good-night, then turning into the Boulevard St.
"Don't tell me," replied his chum, with scorn; "fellows don't rush off to Mignon's when the set dine at Boulant's. Who is it now? but no, I won't ask that, what's the use!" Then he lifted up his voice in complaint and beat upon the table with his pipe. "What's the use of ever trying to keep track of you? What will Cecile say, oh, yes, what will she say?
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