"Just here."
"It looks like the Exhibition."
It was a dim coffee-shop hung with rugs and gongs. The smoke of many cigarettes and joss-sticks had steeped the gloom with Arabian airs.
"It is in a way a caravanserai," said Maurice.
"A what?" said Jenny.
"A caravanserai—a Turkish pub, if you like it better."
"You and I are seeing life to-day."
"I like my coffee freshly ground," Maurice explained.
"Well, I like tea."
"The tea's very good here. It's China."