n run over by an omnibus; let us have a drink.' My
good Reginald, look at the clock. It is only nine in the morning."

"Rot!" said Reginald. "Drink is good at any time."

They went into the dark and deserted smoking-room, where Batterby
ordered Scotch and soda and Aristide, an abstemious man, a plain
vermouth.

"What's that muck?" asked Batterby, when the waiter brought the drinks.
Aristide explained. "Whisky's good enough for me," laughed the other.
Aristide laughed too, out of politeness and out of joy at meeting his
old friend.

"With you playing at guide here," said Batterby, when he had learned
Aristide's position in the hotel, "it seems I have come to the right
shop. There are no flies on me, you know, but when a man comes to Paris
for the first time he likes to be put up to the ropes."

"Your first visit to Paris?" cried Aristide. "_Mon vieux_, what wonders
are going to ravish your eyes! What a time you are going to have!"

Batterby bit off the end of a great black cigar.

"If the missus will let me," said he.

"Missus? Your wife? You are married, my dear Reginald?" Aristide leaped,
in his unexpected fashion, from his chair and almost embraced him. "Ah,
but you are happy, you are lucky. It was always like that. You open your
mouth and the larks fall ready roasted into it! My congratulations. And
she is here, in this hotel, your wife? Tell me about her."

Batterby lit his cigar. "She's nothing to write home about," he said,
modestly. "She's French."

"French? No--you don't say so!" exclaimed Aristide, in ecstasy.

"Well, she was brought up in France from her childhood, but her parents
were Finns. Funny place for people to come from--Finland--isn't it? You
could never expect it--might just as well think of 'em coming from
Lapland. She's an orphan. I met her in London."

"But that's romantic! And she is young, pretty?"

"Oh, yes; in a way," said the proprietary Briton.

"And her name?"

"Oh, she has a fool name--Fleurette. I wanted to call her Flossie, but
she didn't like it."

"I should think not," said Aristide. "Fleurette is an adorable name."

"I suppose it's right enough," said Batterby. "But if I want to call her
good old Flossie, why should she object? You married, old man? No? Well,
wait till you are. You think women are angels all wrapped up in feathers
and wings beneath their toggery, don't you? Well, they're just blooming
porcupines, all bristling with objections."

"_Mais, allons, d