Therefore the idea of marriage did not occur to him as of the possibilities. He could not imagine himself marrying a foreigner. Here his mother functioned without hindrance. She had been against all foreigners. To her a foreigner had been a sort of freak of nature, a distressing accident. Anybody who was not English had been guilty of some sort of obscure offense against nature. Of course there were degrees of foreignness—some, as the Chinese, were more guilty than others—but it was a difference in degree and that was all. This was a basic _fact_ to her, a part of her, and, without consciously instructing Kendall, she had impressed her way of thinking upon him until it was his own. He did not think of marriage with Andree any more than he would have thought of eating a rose.... As a matter of fact, he didn’t know just what he did think of in connection with her. He had no definite hopes. She had occurred in his life and now he was drifting along, letting matters take care of themselves. He simply was without intentions of any sort.... But he was vaguely uneasy. At seven-thirty Kendall and Bert entered Marty’s a bit diffidently, as young men do who go to a place where they are uncertain of just how to behave. It was a dingy little café, poorly lighted and rather crowded with things. One passed a sort of bar upon which were piled _langoustes_ and melons, and behind which was madame, very fat and capable, surrounded by bottles of various kinds, and keeping an efficient eye on her patrons and upon the finances of the institution. A half-partition of glass separated the bar from the rest of the room, which was filled with tables in parallel rows, with a narrow aisle down the middle. When filled to capacity the café might contain as many as thirty persons. Madame bade them welcome with a smile and a _bon soir_, and motioned them to proceed to a table. They seated themselves and looked about. Only a few persons were present, but before a stout waitress dressed in black had taken their order a considerable party entered and took seats directly opposite. There were four men and two women. Almost simultaneously a fifth young man entered noisily. He waved his cane in the air as he hobbled in, for he had an artificial leg, and shouted greetings to everybody. He was rather tall and very thin and pale, but exceedingly jaunty. His felt hat, a disreputable affair, was askew on his head, and there was something rakish about even his limp. With many gestures and apparent great excitement he rushed from one table to the other, shaking hands with everybody, and once in a while stooping to kiss a girl on the cheek. Everybody laughed with him and at him. At last his eyes perceived Kendall and Bert and he came lunging across to them. “Ha!” he shouted, throatily. “Americans! Welcome! I shall sit at your table and we shall be acquainted, is it not? You see I spik Engleesh ver’ fine. Behol’! I shall sit here.”