[...] "You don't mind if I take this?" she queried, showing her the menu and pointing to her briefcase. The hostess of course was delighted: all the world loves a writer, Libby had found. The old French waiters at the Lafayette Cafe had got so they gave her a regular table when she dropped in, toute seule, on Sunday afternoons, to read or take notes at the marble-topped table and watch the odd characters playing checkers or reading the newspapers, which were rolled up on wooden poles the way they were in France.