Henri had taken us under his special protection, and had added half a dozen _hors-d'œuvre_ to the menu besides the caviar, and when the time came for our slices of tongue he appeared bearing a whole tongue lavishly garnished.
It was a capital dinner, well cooked throughout, and as Mrs. Tota praised each dish Henri beamed more and more upon us. And Mrs. Tota chattered like her namesake. We talked about the famous masked ball at Simla, at which Field-Marshal Lord Roberts, disguised in mask and domino, went up to a humorous Irish lady, and, in a feigned voice, asked her for a dance, receiving a reply that she "hadn't time to be dancing with boys to-night." We talked of gymkhanas at Annandale, and picnics at Mashobra, of A.D.C. theatricals and town-hall balls, and we effectually brought the scent of the deodars into Soho.
Mrs. Tota finished her coffee and Curaçoa Marnier, and sighed as she drew on her gloves. "Those were good days," she said, and I nodded assent.
I told Henri to bring me the bill. Two dinners, £1: 1s.; one Moët, 15s.; two cafés, 1s.; two liqueurs, 2s.; total, £1: 19s.
"Henri," I said, "you have let me off too lightly. It should be more than this"; whereat Henri went through an expressive pantomime which meant that to undercharge me was the last thing the management would think of doing.
We left the domino in Henri's charge, and Mrs. Tota thought she would walk the few yards to the Palace. "If all dinners in private rooms are as pleasant as that, I rather think that I envy your elderly male relative," said Mrs. Tota as we emerged into Church Street.
"If you will dine with me on Sunday night I will give you dinner in the most interesting private dining-room that any restaurant in London can show," I said to little Mrs. Tota.
"She'll do nothing of the sort," said George, her husband, from behind his paper.
"George!" said little Mrs. Tota, and there was a mixture of astonishment, query, and reproof in the way she spoke her husband's name.
George laid down his newspaper. "Since you took her to dine in that private room at Kettner's nothing has been good enough for her. She would like a _maître d'hôtel_ and a head waiter dancing round her at every meal, and she can't go out of the front door without looking round to see if there is a manager there to bow her out."