But in a moment he had decided that
he must and ought to pay a call in the Rue d'Athenes. Mr. Ingram had
said nothing about his seeing Lois again, had not referred to Mrs.
Ingram's invitation to repeat his visit, might even vaguely object to an
immediate interview between him and Lois. Yet he could not, as a man of
the world, abandon Lois so unceremoniously. He owed something to Lois
and he owed something to himself. And he was a free adult. The call was
natural and necessary, and if Mr. Ingram did not like it he must, in the
Five Towns phrase, lump it. George set off to find the Rue d'Athenes
unguided. It was pleasurable to think that there was a private abode in
the city of cafes, hotels, and museums to which he had the social right
of entry.
The watching concierge of the house nodded to him politely as he began
to mount the stairs. The Ingrams' servant smiled upon him as upon an old
and familiarly respected friend.
"Mademoiselle Lois?" he said, with directness.
The slatternly, benevolent girl widened her mouth still further in a
smile still more cordial, and led him to the drawing-room. As she did so
she picked up a newspaper packet that lay on a table in the tiny hall,
and, without putting it on a salver, deposited it in front of Lois, who
was alone in the drawing-room.
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