No more was said about the length of her untimely visit to Italy, but
much about the days in the near future. Would she go to see "Peter Pan"
the next night? And would she dine first at a little restaurant, where
the cooking was a thing to dream of?
And would she do several other things?
She would. She would do all these things. But--she would not go to a
certain little restaurant near Leicester Square, of which she had heard.
Joyselle blushed scarlet and for a moment looked as though he intended
to thunder out a severe reproof at her. Then she smiled at him with
narrowed eyes, and he said nothing.
At about half-past eleven an idea occurred to her. She wanted an omelet.
Like the first time. And she must borrow an apron and help make the
omelet; and it must be full of little savoury green things, and be
flopped in the long-handled frying-pan.
"But your dress!" cried Madame Joyselle, in horror.
"An apron, and I will twist up the tail of the dragon and pin it at the
waist, and--oh, come, come, come, it will be such fun!"
Down the stairs they ran, the three, leaving Madame Joyselle to turn out
all but one light, and to put another log on the dying fire.
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