"And it is all quite settled.

And you are coming back with me to-day at one o'clock to interview the _concierge_!" Blake threw himself back in his chair.

"I'm hanged if I am!" Yesterday the boy would have drawn back upon the instant, armored in his pride, but to-day his reply was to look direct into Blake's face with fascinating audacity.
"Then you will leave me to contend alone against who can say what villain--what _apache_ ?" "It strikes me you are qualified to deal with any _apache_." "You are angry!" "Angry! I should think not!" "Oh yes, you are!" Max's eyes shone, his lips curled into smiles.
"And why should I be angry?
Because your silly little wings have begun to sprout?
I'm not such a fool, my boy! I knew well enough you'd soon be flying alone." Max clapped his hands.

"Oh yes, you are! You are angry--angry--angry! You are angry because I found my way to Montmartre without you, and made a little discovery all by myself! Is it not like a--" He stopped, laughed, reddened as though he had made some slip, and then on the instant altered his whole expression to one of appeal and contrition.
"_Mon ami_!" Blake's reply was to pick up the _menu_ and turn to the attending waiter.
"Monsieur Ned!" Blake glanced at him reluctantly, caught the softened look, and laughed.
"You're a young scamp--and I suppose I'm a cross-grained devil! But if I was angry, where's the wonder?
A man doesn't pick up a quaint little book on the _quais_, and look to have it turning its own leaves!" "But now?
Now it is all forgiven?
You will not cast away your little book because--because the wind came and fluttered the pages ?" Once again Max spoke softly, with the softness that broke so alluringly across the reckless independence of look and gesture.
A sudden consciousness of this fascination--a sudden annoyance with himself that he should yield to it--touched Blake.
"I can't go with you to Montmartre," he said, abruptly.

"It's McCutcheon's last day in Paris, and I promised to give him the afternoon." "Who?
The long, spider man who disliked me ?" "A spider who weaves big webs, I can tell you! You ought to be more respectful to your elders." "And I ought to have a studio across the river?
Oh, Monsieur Ned, order some food, for the love of God! I am perishing of hunger." Blake ordered the _dejeuner_, and talked a great deal upon indifferent subjects while they ate; but each felt jarred, each felt disappointed, though neither could exactly have said why.