"The animals went in four by four,
Hurray, Hurray!
The animals went in four by four
And the big hippopotamus stuck in the door."
This last line, she considered, might almost have applied to several of the invités!
All of them, as they approached the hotel, stiffened, pulled themselves together as if they were going past the saluting point of a review, assumed photographically unnatural expressions, and walked delicately; then they seemed to deflate and hurry as they slipped past the corner to the back entrance to the premises.
"Oh, I'm not a bit hungry," sighed the agitated Miss Walsh as she turned from the window and sat down next to Olwen at the long table. The déjeuner was as perfectly cooked and served as if no subterranean banquet had been in preparation. "Oh, fancy having to be 'shown' to a host of people! Oh, I can't help feeling almost glad that Gustave's father and mother aren't alive! If they had been, you know, he would have had to ask their consent to marry me, even though he is thirty-eight. Oh, it is such a mercy that Madame didn't want me to sit through the whole of lunch."
"Much the best plan!" agreed Mrs. Cartwright from her side of the table.
"Oh, yes; I don't appear till they have to drink my health—oh, but I am so nervous! And do you think I look all right in this, Mrs. Cartwright?... honestly?"
She wore an expensive new dress of prune-coloured glacé silk, ornamented with a kind of lace bib and with rows and rows of little crimson buttons that fastened nothing. Both Mrs. Cartwright and Olwen fibbed valiantly, and had their reward. The loveliest frock in Paris could not have been more becoming to Agatha Walsh than her flush of pleasure.
That déjeuner downstairs was supposed to be intime and private; but the distant sounds of it were already becoming audible to the more public part of the hotel.
First a soft but thunderous drumming as of applause upon the table-top was heard.