"What the hell business is it of yours? Haven't had half enough to drink."
Nan came back to the table, a little sociable smile still playing about the corners of her mouth.
"Well, shall we go?" she said briskly.
"Look! Look outside!" cried Wenny, "it's beginning to snow."
In the black space above the muslin curtain that screened the window they could see big flakes gently, breathlessly tumbling.
"Thank you, sir; come again, sir," said the waiter as he let the tip slide into one of the pockets of his sagging vest.
They were out in the snowhushed streets, the snow brushing their cheeks with occasional feathery gentleness like tips of wings of very cold birds.
"Did you ask her?" said Wenny.
"No. I shall next time. She's awfully nice." Nan was buttoning the fur round her neck.
"Do you want to taxi?" asked Fanshaw, who had thin shoes on.