His voice was perfectly calm, even polite, but as I whirled round and
looked at him, fearing a scene, I saw that his eyes were rather
dangerous. He looked like a dog who says, as plainly as a dog can speak,
"I'm a good fellow, and I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. But put
that bone down, or I bite."

The Italian dropped the bone (I don't mind the simile) not because he
was afraid, I think, but because Mr. John Dane's chin was much squarer
and firmer than his; and because such sense of justice as he had told
him that the newcomer was within his rights.

"And I beg mademoiselle's pardon," he replied with a bow and a flourish.

"I'm so glad you've come--but I oughtn't to be, and I didn't expect
you," I said, when my chauffeur had pulled out a chair for me at the end
of the table farthest from the other maids and chauffeurs.

"Why not?" he wanted to know, sitting down by my side.

"Because I suppose it's the best hotel in town, and--"

"Oh, you're thinking of my pocket! I wish I hadn't said what I did last
night. Looking back, it sounds caddish. But I generally do blurt out
things stupidly. If I didn't, I shouldn't be 'shuvving' now--only that's
another story. To tell the whole truth, it wasn't the state of my
pocketbook alone that influenced me last night. I had two other reasons.
One was a selfish one, and the other, I hope, unselfish."

"I hope the selfish one wasn't fear of being bored?"