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 to-night, 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?”