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Wouldn't it distraire Madame to dine to-night, let us say, at Ciro's, or the Hotel de Paris, and look in at the Casino afterward? Madame is always so sad." The man was too insignificant for her wrath, but not so insignificant that he couldn't be a warning.
Durkin remembered, at that moment, that he was woefully hungry. He also remembered, more gratefully, that the young Chicagoan, the lonely and loquacious youth he had met the day before in the café of the "Terrasse," had asked him to take dinner with him, to view the splendor of "Ciro's" and a keeper of the vestiaire in scarlet breeches and silk stockings.
The college Freshman knows, at least by name, the latest beauty who haunts the Folies Bergères, and his father probably has a refined and intimate familiarity with the special attractions of Ciro's and the Trocadero. I do not deny that we have learned valuable lessons from the Parisians. At any rate our cooking has vastly improved.
"I shall go round to my rooms, change my clothes," he announced, "and meet you presently. We'll lunch across at Ciro's, eh? I didn't mean to come to Monte Carlo this year, but so long as I am here, I may as well make the best of it. You are not looking as though the change had done you much good, Hunterleys."
"Not on the terrace," he said, quickly, for he could not bear to meet the sweet ghost of the past in the white dress and ermine stole, as he gave advice to the flesh and blood reality of the present, in the pink frock and roses. "What about Ciro's? Couldn't we find your mother somewhere, and get her to chaperon us for lunch? I should think it must be very jolly now, in the Galerie Charles Trois."
A little while ago, he had walked through the Galerie Charles Trois, thinking how delightful the tables looked at Ciro's, and making up his mind to return there for lunch. But afterwards, on the terrace, he had been so miserable that he would probably have forgotten all about his plan, if it had not been for the girl.
"Give me the pleasure of entertaining you all." Josephine shook her head. "Tannhãuser! I am sorry, Mr. Phipps, but I couldn't possibly stand it. Ask us another time, won't you? To-morrow night," she went on, turning to Wingate, "let us be absolutely frivolous. A revue, I think." "And dinner first at the Milan," Wingate insisted. "And supper afterwards and a dance at Ciro's," Sarah put in.
At heart "The President" was not at all a bad fellow, and on many an occasion in the past season we had sipped "manhattans" together at Ciro's. Thus more than a week passed a week of grave apprehension and constant wonderment during which time the long-nosed stranger seemed to turn up everywhere in a manner quite unaccountable.
It was all dashed romantic, don't you know, but there are limits. "Voules, you're sacked," I said. "Who cares?" he said. "Think I was going to stop on now I'm a gentleman of property? Come along, Emma, my dear. Give a month's notice and get your 'at, and I'll take you to dinner at Ciro's." "And you, Mr. Lattaker," said the Count, "may I conduct you to the presence of my high-born master?
"Clifford is a very shrewd man of business," remarked Larssen, drinking his third cognac at Ciro's at the end of a dinner which was a masterpiece even for Monte Carlo, where dining is taken au grand sérieux. He did not sip cognac, but took it neat in liqueur glassfuls at a time. There was a clean-cut forcefulness even in his drinking, typical of the human dynamo of will-power within.
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