exploded in another inward exclamation: she keeps him!
It was romantic, fantastic, repellent, and highly provocative, all at once, while the disciplined New England part of him calmly said, "Where shall we have lunch?"
"Are you hungry?" asked Vaudreuil in surprise.
"Not at all," said Grover, "But it's something to do." What a horribly American point of view, he reflected, too late.
"As for things to do," said Vaudreuil, going for his hat and stick, "we might walk a little in the park; the sun is coming out." Then, with a sudden impulse, "Shall we go and see Casimir?"
Grover approved the suggestion, but it turned out that Vaudreuil's telephone was out of order. Somebody, Grover suspected, had been willing to pay the telephone bill but just hadn't. As a matter of fact it was Noémi Janvier's bill, and again a romantic thrill shot up his spine.
From a cafe a few streets distant Vaudreuil succeeded in getting a message through to Mme. Casimir, who would be enchanted to see them.
"They live in a very unfashionable quartier, near the Buttes Chaumont," said Vaudreuil. "We can walk there in half an hour, or would you prefer the tramway?"
"Let's walk," said Grover, reflecting that the taxi fare could be better spent later in the day.
