Meanwhile under cover of this hubbub the two ladies Mr. Preemby had seen at tea in the lounge on the occasion of his first visit, percolated unobtrusively to a table near the window. They were obviously sisters, both rather slender and tall with small, round, bright-coloured faces on stalk-like necks; they had sharp little noses, and one of them wore tortoiseshell spectacles. A gentleman with a white moustache, larger and nobler even than Mr. Preemby’s, accompanied by a small alert-looking wife, was the next to appear. Possibly this was the gentleman who had been in a forest in Burmah. The small alert-looking wife bowed to the slender ladies, who became agitated like reeds in a wind. The gentleman took no notice of them, grunted as he sat down, produced glasses and read the menu.
“Tomato soup again!” he said.
“It’s usually very nice tomato soup,” said his wife.
“But Three Times Running!” he said. “It favours acidity. I don’t like tomato soup.”
The table in the bow window was occupied by three people who drifted in separately. First came a little, thin, dark lady in grey, carrying a bead work-bag, then a little dark, bald man with large side-whiskers whom she addressed as father, and then a plump, healthy-looking wife with a radiant manner who swept in and distributed greetings.
“Did you get your walk, Major Bone?” she said to the gentleman from the Burmese forest.
“Just to Rusthall Common and back,” said Major Bone, speaking thickly through his moustache and soup. “Just to Rusthall Common.”
“And you got a char-à-banc to Crohamhurst, Miss Solbé?” The two sisters answered in unison. “Oh! we had a lovely ride.”
“So picturesque,” said the one with spectacles.
“So open and pleasant,” said the one without spectacles.