After that—well, dancing permits, necessitates, holding the partner in one's arm. And Peter danced with Rosemary.
[CHAPTER II]
Lady Orange always had a box for the big functions at the Albert Hall. It was chic, it was right and it was convenient. It gave her an opportunity of entertaining distinguished foreigners de passage in London in a manner that was both original and expensive.
Lady Orange prided herself on her internationalism, and delighted to gather distinguished foreigners about her; members and attachés of minor embassies invariably graced her dinner parties. She often referred to her attainments as "bi-lingual," and in effect she spoke French with a perfect Geneva accent. She thought it bon ton to appear bored at every social function except those which took place at her house in Belgrave Square, and now when a procession made up of bedizened unities marched in double file past her box she remarked languidly:
"I think they show a singular lack of imagination. One would have thought Chelsea artists would have invented something unique, picturesque for themselves."
"They only thought of comfort, perhaps. But it is they who gave the impetus to the imagination of others. Not?"
The man who sat next to Lady Orange spoke with certain gestures of hands and arms that would have proclaimed him a foreigner even apart from his appearance—the somewhat wide expanse of white waistcoat, the ultra-smart cut of his evening clothes, the diamond ring on his finger. He had large, mellow dark eyes, which he used with great effect when he spoke to women, and full lips half-concealed under a heavy black moustache. He had a soft, rich voice, and spoke English with that peculiar intonation which is neither Italian nor Slav, but has the somewhat unpleasant characteristics of both; and he had large, well-shaped, podgy hands all covered with a soft dark down that extended almost to his finger-tips.
Lady Orange, who had pale, round eyes and arched eyebrows that lent to her face a perpetual look of surprise, gazed intelligently about her.
"Ah, oui!" she sighed vaguely. "Vous avez raison!"
She would have liked to continue the conversation in French, but General Naniescu was equally determined to speak English.