“You have say that bifore.... It mus’ be the fault of the girls. _Oui...._ So far as I observe the men they are willing enough.... Perhaps they are so willing bicause at America they are always denied. It is mos’ fortunate for them they come to Paris. Otherwise they would die and not ever have been alive at all.” “You’re a dear child and I love you and I almost understand what you’re talking about. But you could never understand America—and sometimes I’m glad of it.... And America never will be able to understand you.” “What would Americans theenk of me if I come to New York?” “They would think you were very lovely.” “I do not mean _that_. I am not lovely. I am ver’ hideous. See, I cover my face bicause you are afraid.” “Let’s not bother about America—just about us.” “But I am _jalouse_. I hate thees American yo’ng girl.” “Fiddlesticks!” “For all you say, I theenk she come here las’ night.” “Now, look here—” She laughed gaily and ran to the window. “See, I shall jump down and die.... _Bon soir_, Arlette....” “_Bon soir, mademoiselle. Dîner est servi._” “It is well.... How does your little granddaughter carry herself?” “Very well, mademoiselle. Even now she is in the kitchen and very impatient to visit you and Monsieur Ken.” “She must dine weeth us, mus’ she not, _cher ami_?” “Of course. Set a place for her, Arlette. And tell her we shall have some American cakes that I got at the commissary store.” Arlette beamed with pride and satisfaction and padded about, setting a third place at the table, waggling her head and whispering to herself as she went. Ken and Andree seated themselves, and then Arlette appeared in the door with little Arlette concealed among her skirts. The tiny head, with its birdlike features, peeped out at them timorously. “Enter, mademoiselle,” said Andree. “See, she has eyes only for Monsieur Ken, is it not? She is my rival.... I shall not dine weeth her. She is ver’ bad and wicked.” Arlette pushed her granddaughter ahead of her, muttering to her in French. “_Bon soir, monsieur. Bon soir, mademoiselle_,” she said in a tiny voice. “Arlette!” prompted her grandmother, and set her head on one side and made her eyes very large and round while she awaited the result of her prompting. Little Arlette looked at her grandmother, then at Ken and Andree in turn, and said, with the most comical manner of pride in achievement, “Goo’-by, gent’men.” “Oh,” exclaimed Andree, “she has learned English to make me sad! With these accomplishments she will make short work of me.” Ken lifted the child into her place and tilted her delicate, fragile, fairy face upward. “You shall give me a kiss and make her very jealous,” he said, whereupon she kissed him, keeping one eye on Andree to observe results, and was much gratified to see her rival cover her face with her hands to hide her grief.