He was up in London upon equipment business on the very Saturday that John got leave, and he was due to dine at the Carlton with Verisschenzko who had that day arrived on vital matters bent.
As they came into the hall, a man stopped to talk to the Russian, and Denzil's eyes wandered over the unnumerous and depressed looking company collected waiting for their parties to arrive. War had even in those early Autumn days set its grim seal upon this festive spot. People looked rather ashamed of being seen and no one smiled. He nodded to one or two friends, and then his glance fell upon a beautiful, slim, brown-haired girl, sitting quietly waiting in an armchair by the restaurant steps.
She wore a plain black frock, but in her belt one huge crimson clove carnation was unostentatiously tucked.
"What a lovely creature!" his thoughts ran, and Verisschenzko turning from his acquaintance that moment, he said to him as they started to advance:
"Stépan, if you want to see something typically English and perfectly exquisite, look at that girl in the armchair opposite where the band used to be. I wonder who she is?"
"What luck!" cried Verisschenzko. "That is your cousin, Amaryllis
Ardayre—come along!"
And in a second Denzil found himself being introduced to her, and being greeted by her with interested cordiality, as befitted their cousinly relationship.
But Verisschenzko, whose eyes missed nothing, remarked that under his sunburn, Denzil had grown suddenly very pale. Amaryllis was enchanted to see her friend, the Russian. John had gone to the telephone, it appeared—and yes, they were dining alone—and, of course, she was sure John would love to amalgamate parties, it was so nice of Verisschenzko to think of it! There was John now.
The blood rushed back to Denzil's heart, and the colour to his face—he had only murmured a few conventional words. Mercifully John would decide the matter—it was not his doing that he and Amaryllis had met.
John caught sight of the three as he came along the balcony from the telephone, so that he had time to take in the situation; he saw that the meeting was quite imprévu, and he had, of course, no choice but to accept Verisschenzko's suggestion with a show of grace. At that very moment, before they could enter the restaurant, and re-arrange their tables, Harietta Boleski and her husband swept upon them—they were staying in the hotel. Harietta was enraptured.