Windebank looked from table to table, as if in search of something. His eye, presently, rested on one, at which an elderly matron was supping with a parson, presumably her husband.
"Good luck!" Windebank murmured, adding to the girl, "This way."
Mavis followed him up the hall to the table next the one where the elderly couple were sitting.
"This is about our mark," he said.
"Why specially here?" she asked.
"Those elderly geesers are a sort of chaperone for unprotected innocence; a parson and all that," he remarked.
She could hardly forbear smiling at his conception of protection.
A waiter assisted her with her cloak. When she took a seat opposite to Windebank, he said:
"I like this place; there's no confounded music to interfere with what one's got to say."
"I like music," Mavis remarked.