The snuffy old gentlemen had left the room in a body, outwardly polite and inwardly raging. They could not endure the Americans, who filled the room with their chatter.
The big-headed young man looked after them with a knowing cough, murmuring, “Gay old birds!”
“They look like bad old men, Mr. Bladen,” said the girl.
To this Mr. Bladen smiled and said, “They’ve had their day,” in a tone which implied that he was now having his.
“And that’s why they all have baggy eyes,” cried the girl. “I think it’s a shame for young gentlemen—”
“Why, Susie!” said the mother, and the conversation lagged.
After a while Mr. Bladen threw down the Petit Journal , which he daily studied at the expense of the house, and turning to Hastings, started to make himself agreeable. He began by saying, “I see you are American.”
To this brilliant and original opening, Hastings, deadly homesick, replied gratefully, and the conversation was judiciously nourished by observations from Miss Susie Byng distinctly addressed to Mr. Bladen. In the course of events Miss Susie, forgetting to address herself exclusively to Mr. Bladen, and Hastings replying to her general question, the entente cordiale was established, and Susie and her mother extended a protectorate over what was clearly neutral territory.
“ Mr. Hastings, you must not desert the pension every evening as Mr. Bladen does. Paris is an awful place for young gentlemen, and Mr. Bladen is a horrid cynic.”
Mr. Bladen looked gratified.