A look of irritation marred Janet’s spiritual countenance for an instant.  But she never permitted anything whatsoever to stand between her and what she wished.  She masked herself and said sweetly:  “Won’t you go, dear?  I know you’ll enjoy it—­you and Dory.  And it would be a great favor to me.  I don’t see how I can go unless you consent.  You know, I mayn’t go with just anyone.”

Adelaide’s first impulse was to refuse; but she did not.  She put off decision by saying, “I’ll ask Dory to-night, and let you know in the morning.  Will that do?”

“Perfectly,” said Janet, rising to go.  “I’ll count on you, for I know Dory will want to see the chateau and get a glimpse of life in the old aristocracy.  It will be so educational.”

Dory felt the change in Del the instant he entered their little salon—­felt that during the day some new element had intruded into their friendly life together, to interrupt, to unsettle, and to cloud the brightening vistas ahead.  At the mention of Janet he began to understand.  He saw it all when she said with a show of indifference that deceived only herself, “Wouldn’t you like to go down to Besancon?”

“Not I,” replied he coldly.  “Europe is full of that kind of places.  You can’t glance outdoors without seeing a house or a ruin where the sweat and blood of peasants were squandered.”

“Janet thought you’d be interested in it as history,” persisted Adelaide, beginning to feel irritated.

“That’s amusing,” said Dory.  “You might have told her that scandal isn’t history, that history never was made in such places.  As for the people who live there now, they’re certainly not worth while—­the same pretentious ignoramuses that used to live there, except they no longer have fangs.”

“You ought not to be so prejudiced,” said Adelaide, who in those days often found common sense irritating.  She had the all but universal habit of setting down to “prejudice” such views as are out of accord with the set of views held by one’s business or professional or social associates.

Her irritation confirmed Dory’s suspicions.  “I spoke only for myself,” said he.  “Of course, you’ll accept Janet’s invitation.  She included me only as a matter of form.”

“I couldn’t, without you.”

“Why not?”

“Well—­wouldn’t, then.”

“But I urge you to go—­want you to go!  I can’t possibly leave Paris, not for a day—­at present.”

“I shan’t go without you,” said Adelaide, trying hard to make her tone firm and final.

Dory leaned across the table toward her—­they were in the garden of a cafe in the Latin Quarter.  “If you don’t go, Del,” said he, “you’ll make me feel that I am restraining you in a way far meaner than a direct request not to go.  You want to go.  I want you to go.  There is no reason why you shouldn’t.”

Adelaide smiled shamefacedly.  “You honestly want to get rid of me?”