“What are you thinking of?” asked Lord Bracondale, while she gazed at him.

“I was thinking you are a beautiful, useless creature.  Just like all your nation.  You think the world is made for you; in any case, all the women and animals to kill are.”

“What an abominable libel!  But I am fond of both things—­women and animals to kill.”

“And you class them equally—­or perhaps the animals are ahead.”

“Indeed not always,” said Hector, reassuringly.  “Some women have quite the first place.”

“You are too flattering!” retorted the widow.  “Those sentiments are all very well for your own poor-spirited, down-trodden women, but they won’t do for Americans!  A man has to learn a number of lessons before he is fitted to cope with them.”

“Oh, tell me,” said Hector.

“He has got to learn to wait, for one thing, to wait about for hours if necessary, and not to lose his temper, because the woman can’t make up her mind to be in time for things, or to change it often as to where she will dine.  Then he has to learn to give up any pleasure of his own for hers—­and travel when she wants to travel, or stay home when she wants to go alone.  If he is an Englishman he don’t have brains enough to make the money, but he must let her spend what he has got how she likes, and not interfere with her own.”

“And in return he gets?”

“The woman he happens to want, I suppose.”  And the widow laughed, showing her wonderfully preserved brilliant white teeth.

“You enunciate great truths, belle dame!” said Hector, “and your last sentence is the greatest of all—­’The woman he happens to want.’”

“Which brings us back to our muttons—­in this case only a defenceless baby lamb.  Now tell me what you are here for, trying to cajole me with your good looks and mock humility.”

“I am here to ask you to help me to see her again, then,” said Hector, who knew when to be direct.  “I have only met her three times, as you know, but I have fallen in love, and she is going away next week, and there is only one Paris in the world.”

“You can do a great deal of mischief in a week,” Mrs. McBride said, looking at him again critically.  “I ought not to help you, but I can’t resist you—­there!  What can we devise?”

It is possible the probability of Theodora’s father making a fourth may have had something thing to do with her complaisance.  Anyway, it was decided that if feasible the four should spend a day at Versailles.

They should go in their two automobiles in time for breakfast at the Reservoirs.  They would start, Theodora in Mrs. McBride’s with her, and Captain Fitzgerald with Lord Bracondale, and each couple could spend the afternoon as they pleased, dining again at the Reservoirs and whirling back to Paris in the moonlight.  A truly rural and refreshing programme, good for the soul of man.

“And I can rely upon you to get rid of the husband?” said Lord Bracondale, finally.  “I do not see the poetry of the affair with his bald head and mutton-chop whiskers as an accessory.”