And meantime, while du Val’s attention roved about the amazing dishes set forth for his choice, Monty did not hesitate to point out to Gaveston some few of the famous figures of this new and delirious world upon which he had now stumbled.
“That’s Adolphus Jack, of course, and Aaron Einstein further over. And there’s little Chou-chou Wilkins: such a dear! She always wears those black earrings since she did in poor Boris Zemstvo after the Victory Ball—you remember.”
Gaveston nodded. The ffoulises took pride in their knowledge of things mondains.
“And behind Jack, who’s that?”
“Oh, that’s the painter fellow, Tierra del Fuego—you know.”
Gaveston nodded. He was calm, but it was profoundly moving to a man of his sensitive social perceptibilities thus to see gathered together in so small a space so many of the world’s master minds. Yet already his own personality was making itself felt. From the crowded tables he could hear murmurs of delighted surprise floating across.
“Qui est-ce qui que ça?” came the gay inquiry of a marvellous coquette whose wild capriccii had been the thème of every boulvardier for maint jour.
“Kolossal! Ach, was für gemütlichkeit!” came the guttural answer of her cavalier.