“Lady Seveley; the lady I told you about, who I went to the theatre with the other night.”
“Fancy a lady like that smoking a cigarette!”
A waiter approached with the bill of fare. “We had better not have anything hot, we shall lose the whole day. What do you say?”
“Cold sirloin of beef is excellent, sir; pigeon pie is also very good—young birds.”
“Shall we try the pigeon pie? Get me the wine list. Take off your hat, Lizzie, do.”
“I am afraid my hair will come down.”
“Never mind, so much the better.”
With some difficulty she extracted her hat from the hairpins, and the bright hair hung loose about her white plump face. Frank drank a glass of champagne; he was proud of her beauty.
“By Jove, how this does pick one up! not half bad tipple, is it?”
They hastened through their lunch, unconsciously avoiding the too critical looks of those at the far corner table; nor did they suspect, as they descended the hill and got into their boat and rowed away, that they were still the subject of conversation.