Dallas in a grimy smock and the scuffed kid slippers was entertaining two truants from Chicago society—General Emile Goguet and Roelf Pool. They seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. She introduced Dirk as casually as though their presence were a natural and expected thing—which it was. She had never mentioned them to him. Yet now: “This is Dirk DeJong—General Emile Goguet. We were campaigners together in France. Roelf Pool. So were we, weren’t we, Roelf?”
General Emile Goguet bowed formally, but his eyes were twinkling. He appeared to be having a very good time. Roelf Pool’s dark face had lighted up with such a glow of surprise and pleasure as to transform it. He strode over to Dirk, clasped his hand. “Dirk DeJong! Not—why, say, don’t you know me? I’m Roelf Pool!”
“Oh, but I mean I’m—I knew you when you were a kid. You’re Selina’s Dirk. Aren’t you? My Selina. I’m driving out to see her this afternoon. She’s one of my reasons for being here. Why, I’m——” He was laughing, talking excitedly, like a boy. Dallas, all agrin, was enjoying it immensely.
“They’ve run away,” she explained to Dirk, “from the elaborate programme that was arranged for them this afternoon. I don’t know where the French got their reputation for being polite. The General is a perfect boor, aren’t you? And scared to death of women. He’s the only French general in captivity who ever took the trouble to learn English.”
General Goguet nodded violently and roared. “And you?” he said to Dirk in his careful and perfect English. “You, too, are an artist?”
“Why—uh—bonds. That is, the banking business. Bonds.”
“Ah, yes,” said General Goguet, politely. “Bonds. A very good thing, bonds. We French are very fond of them. We have great respect for American bonds, we French.” He nodded and twinkled and turned away to Dallas.
“We’re all going,” announced Dallas, and made a dash for the stuffy little bedroom off the studio.
Well, this was a bit too informal. “Going where?” inquired Dirk. The General, too, appeared bewildered.
Roelf explained, delightedly. “It’s a plot. We’re all going to drive out to your mother’s. You’ll go, won’t you? You simply must.”
“Go?” now put in General Goguet. “Where is it that we go? I thought we stayed here, quietly. It is quiet here, and no reception committees.” His tone was wistful.