It was very pleasant and interesting to sit there, and watch the groups seated on the low couches beside the little coffee-tables, or to study the throng of people that moved constantly through the large glass doors of the vestibule, and up the flight of shallow steps to the restaurant itself, with its shaded lights and pretty artificial garden. The crowd was unusually large for the time of year: the band was playing a waltz: the whole atmosphere seemed gay and happy to one who only that morning had performed a great act of love.
"How lovely life is, Daisy!" Nance said suddenly, unconsciously echoing Clodagh's words on the day of Gore's return to London.
Daisy Estcoit laughed.
"Of course it is—with a trousseau like yours! But look over there—by the big palm!"
Nance had bent to rearrange some roses in her belt.
"Where? What?" she said, glancing up.
"Don't you see?"
"No. What?"
"Sir Walter Gore. He just rushed through and into the restaurant. He seems in tremendous haste."
"Walter! Where?" Nance looked round eagerly.