"It is rather an amusing situation, is it not?" demanded Marjory.
"Then in time you shall see. In the mean while, you might smile. Why do you not smile?"
"I--I do not know," Marie replied honestly.
"You must learn how. It is necessary. It is necessary even to laugh. Monsieur Covington laughed a great deal this afternoon."
"He--he is a man," observed Marie, as if that were some explanation.
"Eh bien--is it men alone who have the privilege of laughing?"
"I do not know," answered Marie; "but I have noticed that men laugh a great deal more about some things than women."
"Then that is because women are fools," affirmed Marjory petulantly.
Though Marie was by no means convinced, she was ready to drop the matter in her admiration of the picture her mistress made when properly gowned. Whether she wished or not, madame, when she was done with her this evening, looked as a bride should look. And monsieur, waiting below, was worthy of her.
In his evening clothes he looked at least a foot taller than usual. Marie saw his eyes warm as he slipped over madame's beautiful white shoulders her evening wrap.
[Illustration: Monsieur's eyes warmed as he slipped the wrap over madame's shoulders]
Before madame left she turned and whispered in Marie's ear.
"I may be late," she said; "but you will be here when I return."
Marie watched monsieur take his bride's arm as they went out the door, and the thing she whispered to herself had nothing to do with madame at all.
It was all new to Marjory. In the year and a half she had lived in Paris with her aunt she had dined mostly in her room. Such cafés as this she had seen only occasionally from a cab on her way to the opera. As she stood at the entrance to the big room, which sparkled like a diamond beneath a light, she was as dazed as a debutante entering her first ballroom. The head waiter, after one glance at Monte, was bent upon securing the best available table. Here was an American prince, if ever he had seen one.
Decidedly. He desired a quiet table in a corner, not too near the music.
Such a table was immediately secured, and as Covington crossed the room with Marjory by his side he was conscious of being more observed than ever he had been when entering the Riche alone. His bandaged arm lent him a touch of distinction, to be sure; but this served only to turn eyes back again to Marjory, as if seeking in her the cause for it. She moved like a princess, with her head well up and her dark eyes brilliant.