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Temple admired her very much, that he liked her very much, that he did not think her untidy and countrified and ill-dressed, and all the things she had felt herself to be that night when Lady St. Craye and her furs had rustled up the staircase at Thirion's. And she had dined with Mr. Temple and lunched with Mr. Temple, and there had been an afternoon at St. Cloud, and a day at Versailles.

That she she should find herself nervous, at fault, find herself playing the game as crudely as any shopgirl! "No," said Vernon. "But you couldn't have expected me?" She knew quite well what she was doing, but she was too nervous to stop herself. "I've always expected you," he said deliberately, "ever since I told you that I often dined at Thirion's." "You expected me to "

In the Rue Notre Dame des Champs Betty opens her mouth to say, "Gare de Lyons." No: this is his street. Better cross it as quickly as may be. At the Church of St. Germain yes. The coachman smiles at the new order: like the concierge he scents an intrigue, whips up his horse, and swings round to the left along the prettiest of all the boulevards, between the full-leafed trees. Past Thirion's. Ah!

The proprietor of Thirion's had good taste, and knew a beautiful woman when he saw her. Betty's eyes, too, strayed more and more often from her plate, and from Temple to the efflorescence of this new beauty-light. She felt mean and poor, ill-dressed, shabby, dowdy, dull, weary and uninteresting. Her face felt tired. It was an effort to smile.

The aristocracy of the studio had for some days past resolved upon the fall of this queen, but no one had, as yet, ventured to openly avoid the Bonapartist. Mademoiselle Thirion's act was, therefore, a decisive stroke, intended by her to force the others into becoming, openly, the accomplices of her hatred.

What was that place you were telling me of, where the waiter has a wonderful voice and makes the orders he shouts down the tube sound like the recitative of the basso at the Opera." "Thirion's," said Temple; "but it wasn't I, it was Vernon." "Thirion's, that's it!" Lady St. Craye broke in before Vernon's name left his lips. "Would you like to take me there to dine, Mr. Temple?"

"The Quarter doesn't regard things in that light," said Gethryn, trying hard to laugh off the weight that oppressed him. "The Quarter is a law unto itself. Be a law unto yourself, Rex Good night, old chap." "Good night, Braith," said Gethryn slowly. Five Thirion's at six pm.

Germain, Thirion's where Du Maurier used to go, and Thackeray, and all sorts of celebrated people; and where the host treats you like a friend, and the waiter like a brother?" "I should love to be treated like a waiter's brother. Do let's go," said Betty.

She took that as she chose to take it. "No, you're beautifully humble." "And you're proudly beautiful." She flushed and looked down. "Don't you like to be told that you're beautiful?" "Not by you. Not like that!" "And so you didn't come to Thirion's to see me? How one may deceive oneself! The highest hopes we cherish here! Another beautiful illusion gone!"

Craye, brushing her dark furs against the wall of Thirion's staircase, came, followed by Temple, into the room where Betty and Vernon, their heads rather close together, were discussing the menu. This was what Lady St. Craye had thought of more than a little. Yet it was not what she had expected. Vernon, perhaps, yes: or the girl. But not Vernon and the girl together. Not now.