II
I agreed with my sister that it was abominably rude of her younger brother to be nearly an hour late to take her out to dinner, especially as she had been ready for at least twenty minutes. She was furious. I said: “There is a new dance place open. I heard about it from a friend of mine, Mr. Cherry-Marvel. You will meet him, he is charming. This new place is called La Plume de Ma Tante. It has only been open three nights, so it will be very modish for another two. There is a nightingale there.”
“One cannot dance to a nightingale.”
“But why are you so exclusive?”
“It is cruel and beastly to keep a nightingale caged.”
“Dear, it takes a woman who once had a passion for aigrettes and who loves eating lobsters to be so sensitive. But there is probably baser music to supplement this nightingale. There are, in fact, five lovely niggers. The place is called La Plume de Ma Tante so that English people may know exactly where they stand.”
“You are so funny tonight, but would you mind not polishing your shoes on my dress? This is a very terrible taxi, and I think men are monstrous. If you were taking any woman but your sister out to dinner you would have chosen the taxi with discretion.”
“Rudolf and Raymonde are the dancers. I do not want to go to The Pen of My Aunt, but for your sake I would go anywhere. After dinner.”
She was pleased, loving to dance. We walked up the pavement of the rue Royale to the quiet doors of Larue. She said: “I love Rudolf and Raymonde. I saw them dancing at Monte Carlo, and they say American women give him platinum watches from Cartier and that he was a footman in San Francisco, or was that Rudolf Valentino?”
I said: “I say, do you know anything about septic poisoning?”
“Really, how callous you are! Do I know anything about it! But I had it!”
“No!” One’s sister!
“But of course I had it! It is amazing when one’s own brother is quite unaware that one has been through endless pain and torture.”
“Not pain and torture,” I said. “A little bird told me.”
“But I am not responsible for your feathered friends! I was as good as dead, that’s all I know.”
“But, my dear, that was when you were having a baby! I was in Vienna.”
“So you said. But, of course, it came on after I had a baby. One does not get septic poisoning for nothing. I nearly died, I can tell you.”
“Vestiaire, monsieur?”
“… Oh, I see. A baby. After that. …”
“I have never been so hungry in my life,” my sister said, “and you talk to me of septic poisoning. I suppose you think you will destroy my appetite and therefore the bill will be less. I will begin with caviar.”
“Septic poisoning,” I said, “did not kill you, that is the point. You cannot imagine how glad I am. Let us eat caviar.”