"No!" he said savagely.

She sighed.

"I am afraid you had better go away," she said.

As he closed the door he fancied that he heard a sob. But it might have been only fancy.

CHAPTER III

MONSIEUR S'AMUSE

"To-night," young Davenant declared, with something which was suspiciously like a yawn, "I really think that we must chuck it just a little earlier. Shall we say that we leave here at two, and get back to the hotel?"

Mademoiselle Rosine pouted, but said nothing. The young lady from America tried to take Macheson's hand.

"Yes!" she murmured. "Do let's! I'm dead tired."

She whispered something in Macheson's ear which he affected not to hear.

He leaned back in his cushioned seat and laughed.

"What, go home without seeing Francois!" he exclaimed. "He's keeping the corner table for us, and we're all going to dance the Maxixe with the little Russian girl."

"We could telephone," Davenant suggested. "Do you know that we haven't been to bed before six one morning since we arrived in Paris?"

"Well, isn't that what we came for?" Macheson exclaimed. "We can go to bed at half-past twelve in London. Maitre d'hotel, the wine! My friends are getting sleepy. What's become of the music? Tell our friend there--ah! Monsieur Henri!"

He beckoned to the leader of the orchestra, who came up bowing, with his violin under his arm.

"Monsieur Henri, my friends are '_triste_,'" he explained. "They say there is no music here, no life. They speak of going home to bed. Look at mademoiselle here! She yawns! We did not come to Paris to yawn.

Something of the liveliest. You understand? Perhaps mademoiselle there will dance."

"Parfaitement, monsieur."

The man bowed himself away, with a twenty-franc piece in the palm of his hand. The orchestra began a gay two-step. Macheson, starting up, pa.s.sed his arm round the waist of a little fair-haired Parisienne just arriving. She threw her gold satchel on to a table, and they danced round the room. Davenant watched them with unwilling admiration.

"Well, Macheson's a fair knockout," he declared. "I'm hanged if he can keep still for five minutes. And when I knew him at Oxford, he was one of the most studious chaps in the college. Gad! he's dancing with another girl now--look, he's drinking champagne out of her gla.s.s.

Shouldn't stand it, Ella."

Ella was watching him. Her eyes were very bright, and there was more colour than usual in her cheeks.

"It's nothing to me what Mr. Macheson does," she said, with a catch in her voice. "I don't understand him a bit. I think he's mad."

Mademoiselle Rosine leaned across and whispered in her ear. Ella shook her head.

"You see--it is any girl with him," she said. "He dances with them, pays their bills--see, he pays for Annette there, and away he goes--laughing.

You see it is so with them, too. He has finished with them now. He comes back to us. Guess I'm not sure I want him."

Nevertheless she moved her skirts and made room for him by her side.

Macheson came up out of breath, and poured himself out a gla.s.s of wine.

"What a time they are serving supper!" he exclaimed.

Davenant groaned.

"My dear fellow," he exclaimed, "remember our dinner at Lesueur's. You can't be hungry!"

"But I am," Macheson declared. "What are we here for but to eat and drink and enjoy ourselves? Jove! this is good champagne! Mademoiselle Rosine!"

He raised his gla.s.s and bowed. Mademoiselle Rosine laughed at him out of her big black eyes. He was rather a fascinating figure, this tall, good-looking young Englishman, who spoke French so perfectly and danced so well.

"I would make you come and sit by me, Monsieur Macheson," she declared, "but Ella would be jealous."

"What about me?" Davenant exclaimed.

"Oh! la, la!" she answered, pinching his arm.

"I'm sure I don't mind," Ella declared. "I guess we're all free to talk to whom we please."

Macheson drew up a chair and sat opposite to them.

"I choose to look at you both," he said, banging the table with his knife. "Garcon, we did not come here to eat your flowers or your immaculate tablecloth. We ordered supper half an hour ago. Good! It arrives."

No one but Macheson seemed to have much appet.i.te. He ate and he drank, and he talked almost alone. He ordered another bottle of wine, and the tongues of the others became a little looser. The music was going now all the time, and many couples were dancing. The fair-haired girl, dancing with an older woman, touched him on the shoulder as she pa.s.sed, and laughed into his face.

"There is no one," she murmured, "who dances like monsieur."

He sprang up from his seat and whirled her round the room. She leaned against his arm and whispered in his ear. Ella watched her with darkening face.

"It is little Flossie from the _Folies Marigny_," Mademoiselle Rosine remarked. "You must have a care, Ella. She has followed Monsieur Macheson everywhere with her eyes."

He returned to his place and continued his supper.

"Hang it all, you people are dull to-night," he exclaimed. "Drink some more wine, Davenant, and look after mademoiselle. Miss Ella!"

He filled her gla.s.s and she leaned over the table.

"Every one else seems to make love to you," she whispered. "I guess I'll have to begin. If you call me Miss Ella again I shall box your ears."

"Ella then, what you will," he exclaimed. "Remember, all of you, that we are here to have a good time, not to mope. Davenant, if you don't sparkle up, I shall come and sit between the girls myself."

"Come along," they both cried. Mademoiselle Rosine held out her arms, but Macheson kept his seat.

"Let's go up to the _Rat Mort_ if we're going," Ella exclaimed. "It's dull here, and I'm tired of seeing that yellow-headed girl make eyes at you."

Macheson laughed and drained his gla.s.s.