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On the table before her stood an empty coffee-cup and an empty liqueur-glass. She looked at me with a little grimace. "At last!" she exclaimed. "It is the gentleman whom mademoiselle was expecting?" Leon asked discreetly. "Certainly," she answered. "You may go, Leon." We were alone. She gave me her fingers, which I raised to my lips. "Mademoiselle," I said, "I owe you a thousand apologies.
Crayford was sympathetic, spoke almost with emotion a liqueur-glass of excellent old brandy in his hand of the young talented ones who must bear the banner of art bravely before the coming generations. "I love the young!" he said. "It is my proudest boast to seek out and bring forward the young. Aren't it, Alston?"
I can see him still his unwashed red hand toying with the stem of his liqueur-glass, or rising from time to time to push his hair from his forehead, over which it dangled in soggy wisps, while, in a dinner-table tone of voice, he uttered these somewhat surprising sentiments.
The place was Dadendal, I was informed, and the proprietor of the place, when I entered and tossed off a liqueur-glass of cognac, pointed out to me a row of granite buildings fallen much to decay as the ancient convent.
But Diana still clung helplessly to his arm, shivering from head to foot, and Madame de Louvigny hurried across the room and joined her assurances to those of the old maestro. She also added a liqueur-glass of brandy to her soothing, encouraging little speeches, but Diana refused the former with a gesture of repugnance, and seemed scarcely to hear the latter.
The music ceased. Panting for breath, she leaped down amid a chorus of "Bravo's!" and held out her hand for the liqueur-glass. Peter put it in her fingers, and he was trembling more than she, and spilt a little of it. "Well, here's the best," she cried, and raised the glass. Then, with a gay laugh, she put her moistened fingers to his mouth and he kissed them, the spirit on his lips.
And then he returned with a strange-looking bottle, and this time the dignified servant poured the brilliant golden fluid into a tiny liqueur-glass. What could it be? Paul was familiar with most liqueurs. Had he not dined at every restaurant in London, and supped with houris who adored creme de menthe? But this was none he knew. He had heard of Tokay Imperial Tokay could it be that?
"I go there very often," she answered. "Monsieur, unless I am mistaken, is a stranger there." I nodded. "Last night," I told her, "I was there for the first time." "You came," she said, toying with her empty liqueur-glass, "with Louis." "That is so," I admitted. "Louis brings no one there without a purpose," she remarked. "You know Louis, then?" I asked. She raised her eyebrows.
She held out the liqueur-glass towards him, and Paul, in answer to an imperious little nod of the head, which seemed to indicate that he was obeying orders correctly, dropped a square nodule of sugar into it, and looked up with a questioning aspect. 'My name appears to be known to you, madam? he said.
She had paled and was fingering her liqueur-glass absently. Behind her lowered eyelids he surmised that again she was planning. But what? Then it came to him, like a flash. Old Terry had said the draft would exempt married men. She meant to marry Graham to a girl she detested, to save him from danger. Through it all, however, and in spite of his anger and apprehension, he was sorry for her.
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