Bromley, following leisurely, heard her say, “Is it really you, Peter?” and then, “This is Douglas.”
“How do you do, sir,” Peter shook hands, introduced his friend.
“Cocktails, I think,” remarked the Weasel.
“Who is he?” he asked his wife, while the two were depositing hats and coats in the cloak-room opposite.
“Peter Jameson. He married a great friend of mine,” she whispered.
“Better invite ’em both to dinner.”
Alice nodded: and the invitation was accepted over the cocktail glasses. They passed through the glass door into the dining-room—Bromley, always shy with strangers, last—and were escorted through the crowd to an empty table.
Said the Colonel, handling the wine-list, “We can manage a Magnum, I think.”
They settled down to hors d’œuvres and gossip.
“Are you on leave, sir?” Bromley ventured his first remark.