Chapter 9

Mr. Flack's relations with his old friends didn't indeed, after his
return, take on the familiarity and frequency of their intercourse a
year before: he was the first to refer to the marked change in the
situation. They had got into the high set and they didn't care about the
past: he alluded to the past as if it had been rich in mutual vows, in
pledges now repudiated.

"What's the matter all the same? Won't you come round there with us some
day?" Mr. Dosson asked; not having perceived for himself any reason why
the young journalist shouldn't be a welcome and easy presence in the
Cours la Reine.

Delia wanted to know what Mr. Flack was talking about: didn't he know a
lot of people that they didn't know and wasn't it natural they should
have their own society? The young man's treatment of the question was
humorous, and it was with Delia that the discussion mainly went forward.
When he maintained that the Dossons had shamelessly "shed" him Mr.
Dosson returned "Well, I guess you'll grow again!" And Francie made the
point that it was no use for him to pose as a martyr, since he knew
perfectly well that with all the celebrated people he saw and the way he
flew round he had the most enchanting time. She was aware of being a
good deal less accessible than the previous spring, for Mesdames de
Brecourt and de Cliche--the former indeed more than the latter--
occupied many of her hours. In spite of her having held off, to Gaston,
from a premature intimacy with his sisters, she spent whole days in
their company--they had so much to tell her of how her new life would
shape, and it seemed mostly very pleasant--and she thought nothing could
be nicer than that in these intervals he should give himself to her
father, and even to Delia, as had been his wont.

But the flaw of a certain insincerity in Mr. Flack's nature was
suggested by his present tendency to rare visits. He evidently didn't
care for her father in himself, and though this mild parent always took
what was set before him and never made fusses she is sure he felt their
old companion to have fallen away. There were no more wanderings in
public places, no more tryings of new cafes. Mr. Dosson used to look
sometimes as he had looked of old when George Flack "located" them
somewhere--as if he expected to see their heated benefactor rush back to
them with his drab overcoat flying in the wind; but this appearance
usually and rather touchingly subsided. He at any rate missed Gaston
because Gaston had this winter so often ordered his dinner for him; and
his society was not, to make it up, sought by the count and the marquis,
whose mastery of English was small and their other distractions great.
Mr. Probert, it was true,