The woman the narrator takes to luncheon at one of the most expensive restaurants in Paris is exploiting him mercilessly by pretending an interest in his writing which she probably doesn't really feel. At the same time, Maugham, who was twenty years younger at the time of the luncheon he is describing, is pretending to be urbane, gallant, and sophisticated. He has to keep up a smiling, insouciant facade while inwardly he is suffering agonies when his guest, who claims she never eats anything for luncheon, orders some of the most expensive things Foyot's has to offer, including salmon, caviare, and champagne.