Michael perceived Daisy before they were halfway across the room. He greeted her with particular friendliness as an individual among these hard-eyed constellations.
“Hulloa!” she cried. “Wherever have you been all this time?”
“I called at Guilford Street, but you were gone.”
“Oh, yes. I left there. I couldn’t stand the woman there any longer. Sit down. Who’s your friend?”
Michael brought Barnes into the conversation, and suggested moving into one of the alcoves where it was easier to talk.
“No, come on, sit down here. Fritz won’t like it, if we move.”
Michael looked round for the protector, and she laughed.
“You silly thing! Fritz is the waiter.”
Michael presently grew accustomed to being jogged in the back by everyone who passed, and so powerful was the personality of the Orange that very soon he, like the rest of the crowd, was able to discuss private affairs without paying any heed to the solitary smoking listeners around.
“Where’s Dolly?” he asked.