diners to his own table. His anxious gaze sought out the Marchioness and Jane, and he was relieved to find that they were not preparing to depart. Also, he looked again at McFaddan and the dashing young woman at the foot of his table. He had recognized the man who once a week came under his critical observation as a proper footman. As a matter of fact, he had been a trifle flabbergasted by the intense stare with which McFaddan favoured him. Up to this hour he had not associated McFaddan with opulence or a tailor-made dress suit.
After the encore, he descended from the platform and made his way, bowing right and left to the friendly throng, until he brought up at the Marchioness's table. There he paused and executed a profound bow.
The Marchioness proffered her hand, which he was careful not to see, and said something to him in English. He shook his head, expressive of despair, and replied in the Hungarian tongue.
"He does not understand English," said Jane, her eyes sparkling. Then she complimented him in French.
De Bosky affected a faint expression of hope. He managed a few halting words in French. Jane was delighted. This was rare good fun. The musician turned to the others at the table and gave utterance to the customary "Parle vouz Francais, madame—m'sieu?"
"Not a word," said Mrs. Hendricks. "He understands it but he can't hear it," she went on, and suddenly turned a fiery red. "How silly of me," she said to the Marchioness, giggling hysterically.
