"Hulloh, Cuckoo!" Julian said.
She nodded at him. He looked down at her, not quite knowing what to say,
for he knew, by this time, that she objected to any hint from him on the
subject of her proceedings of the night. That was ignored between them,
and when they met the situation was that of a lodger in the Marylebone
Road holding friendly intercourse with a dweller in Mayfair, nothing more
and nothing less.
"Taking a stroll?" Julian said at last. "Isn't it a lovely night?"
"Yes. I say, I'm tired," she answered.
"Shall I take you somewhere?" he asked.
"Yes, do," she said.
They moved towards the Circus.
"Where shall we go?" Julian said. "Have you any pet place?"
"I don't know--oh, the Monico," she replied.
The restaurant was right in front of them. They dodged across to the
island, thence to the opposite pavement, and passed in silently. The
outer hall was thronged with people. So was the long inner room, and
for a moment they stood in the doorway looking for a table. At length
Julian caught sight of an empty one far down under the clock at the end.
They made their way to it and sat down.
"What will you have?" Julian asked Cuckoo.
She considered, sinking back on the plush settee.
Pages:
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353