“Let me take you wherever you’re going,” he asked her but she declined and hurried away. But when she reached her hotel in the Rue DuPhot that evening she found there had been three telephone calls from Mrs. Crosby. As she turned away from the desk determined to change her dress and slip away for a quiet meal alone, the telephone rang again and she heard the girl say: “Yes, Mam’selle Daquin has just come—I’ll connect you at once!” Fearing it might be Mrs. Crosby, Mimi went to the telephone and found her fears well-grounded. Even through the machine one got a distinct sense of gushing good will, of sweetness and light.
“My dear, I was so afraid I’d never get you—we’re having dinner tonight—just a little comfy party of us—and you must come—I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. All the shops are closed now and you can’t work all the time, it’s not good for any of us—‘all work and no play,’ you remember. …” Mrs. Crosby’s voice was laden with little unexpected thrills and flute-like runs that she fancied were quite cute and fascinating. She never got out of practice, for she generously bestowed the silveriness of her tones on male and female alike, even on the servants, who could not as easily flee from them. Mimi knew she would go even as she felt herself a spineless sycophant as she agreed. Hardly had she washed her face before the car was announced. She got some small satisfaction from seeing the new respect on the faces of the hotel attendants as they looked with awe upon the lavender Rolls-Royce with its shining silver trimmings and silken upholstery.
She knew Forrester would be in the car, having sensed that he had been responsible for the dinner invitation. As they were whirled through the Boulevard Madeleine and down the Rue Royal to Maxim’s she listened to Mrs. Crosby’s cooing exclamations of pleasure that she had accepted, while she watched the rounded broadness of Mr. Crosby’s back and the straight lines of Forrester’s in the seats in front of them.