When it came to the end--this delightful repast--he called the waiter,
and wanted to pay the bill; small enough in all conscience. But a new
look appeared round the lady's mouth--imperious, with an instantaneous
flash in her eyes--a pure, steel-grey they were to-day.
"Leave it to Dmitry," she said quickly. "I never occupy myself with
money. They displease me, these details--and why spoil my day?"
But Paul was an Englishman, and resented any woman's paying for his
food. His mouth changed, too, and looked obstinate.
"I say, you know--" he began.
Then she turned upon him.
"Understand at once," she said haughtily. "Either you leave me
unjarred by your English conventionalities, or you pay these miserable
francs and go back to Lucerne alone!"
Paul shrugged his shoulders. He was angry, but could not insist
further.
When they got outside, her voice grew caressing again as she led the
way to a path up among the young beeches.
"Paul--foolish one!" she said. "Do you not think I understand and know
you--and your quaint English ways? But imagine how silly it is. I am
quite aware that you have ample money to provide me with a feast of
Midas--all of gold--if necessary, and you shall some day, if you
really wish. But to stop over paltry sums of francs, to destroy the
thread of our conversation and thoughts--to make it all banal and
everyday! That is what I won't have.
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