I had thought more of Mademoiselle de Clericy's bright eyes than aught else.
"Good morning," said my host, whom I had not seen before going out.
"Where have you been ?" "To the Vicomte de Clericy's." "The devil you have! Then you are not so stolid as you look." And he laughed as he shook out his table napkin.

His thought was only half with me, for he was looking at the menu.
"Arcachon oysters!" he added; "the best in the world! I hate your bloated natives.

Give me a small oyster." "Give me a dozen," I answered, helping myself from the dish at my elbow.
"And did the Vicomte kick you downstairs ?" asked my host, as he compounded in the dip of his plate a wonderful mixture of vinegar and spices.
"No.

He is going to consider my application, and will give me his answer to-morrow morning." John Turner set down the vinegar bottle and looked across the table at me with an expression of wonder on his broad face.
"Well, I never! Did you see Madame?
Clever woman, Madame.

Gives excellent dinners." "Yes; I was presented to her." "Ah! A match for you, Mr.Dick.Did you notice her feet ?" "I noticed that they were well shod." "Just so!" muttered John Turner, who was now engaged in gastronomic delights.