This accomplished, he whipped out his order book, and stood with pencil poised, like a reporter in an American play.
"The strawberries are delicious," he said in honeyed tones.
The man looked at the girl, a question in his eyes.
"Not for me, dad," she said. "I hate them! Grapefruit, please."
As the waiter hurried past, West hailed him. He spoke in loud defiant tones.
"Another plate of the strawberries!" he commanded. "They are better than ever to-day."
For a second, as though he were part of the scenery, those violet eyes met his with a casual impersonal glance. Then their owner slowly spread out her own copy of the Mail.
"What's the news?" asked the statesman, drinking deep from his glass of water.
"Don't ask me," the girl answered, without looking up. "I've found something more entertaining than news. Do you know—the English papers run humorous columns! Only they aren't called that. They're called Personal Notices. And such notices!" She leaned across the table. "Listen to this: 'Dearest: Tender loving wishes to my dear one. Only to be with you now and always. None "fairer in my eyes."—
The man looked uncomfortably about him. "Hush!" he pleaded. "It doesn't sound very nice to me."
"Nice!" cried the girl. "Oh, but it is—quite nice. And so deliciously open and aboveboard. 'Your name is music to me. I love you more—'"
"What do we see to-day?" put in her father hastily.
"We're going down to the City and have a look at the Temple. Thackeray lived there once—and Oliver Goldsmith—"
"All right—the Temple it is."
"Then the Tower of London. It's full of the most romantic associations. Especially the Bloody Tower, where those poor little princes were murdered. Aren't you thrilled?"
"I am if you say so."
"You're a dear! I promise not to tell the people back in Texas that you showed any interest in kings and such—if you will show just a little. Otherwise I'll spread the awful news that you took off your hat when King George went by."
The statesman smiled. West felt that he, who had no business to, was smiling with him.
The waiter returned, bringing grapefruit, and the strawberries West had ordered. Without another look toward West, the girl put down her paper and began her breakfasting. As often as he dared, however, West looked at her. With patriotic pride he told himself: "Six months in Europe, and the most beautiful thing I've seen comes from back home!"
When he rose reluctantly twenty minutes later his two compatriots were still at table, discussing their plans for the day. As is usual in such cases, the girl arranged, the man agreed.
With one last glance in her direction, West went out on the parched pavement of Haymarket.
Slowly he walked back to his rooms. Work was waiting there for him; but instead of getting down to it, he sat on the balcony of his study, gazing out on the courtyard that had been his chief reason for selecting those apartments. Here, in the heart of the city, was a bit of the countryside transported—the green, trim, neatly tailored countryside that is the most satisfying thing in England.
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