The sallow-faced attendant couldn't say he did. There was always a rare lot of bright-coloured frocks about. He beckoned to a waiter, who came up, glancing at me almost suspiciously out of his sunken eyes.
"Young lady in a bright, cherry-coloured frock, sitting at Miss Vi Vassity's table? Yes! Now he came to go back in his mind, he had seemed to notice the young lady. She'd seemed a bit out of it at first. Would that be the one?"
"Yes, yes," eagerly from me. "That would probably be Miss Million!"
"Afterwards," said the waiter, "she seemed to be having a good deal o' conversation with that young Lord Fo'castles, as they call him."
"Ah, yes," I said, thinking again of the glimpse I'd had of the rowdy, foolish-faced young man with the eyeglass, who had been grabbing pink flowers off the table and therewith scufflingly decorating Million's little dark head.
"Laughing and talking together all the time they was afterwards," said the waiter, in his suspicious, weary voice. "I rec'lect the young pers—the young lady, now. You called to wait for her, didn't you, Miss? You and a fair gent. Last night. Then you left before she come away."
"When? When did she go?" I demanded quickly.
"About an hour after you did, I should say."
"And who with?" I asked again breathlessly. "Who was Miss Million with when she left this place?"
"Ar!" said the waiter, "now you're arskin'!" He spoke more suspiciously than ever. And he looked sharply at me, with such disfavour that I felt quite guilty—though why, I don't know.