Some of them still lived and remembered the night. General d'Arny was such a one, and they were to meet to-morrow.
IV
At the Ritz Hotel a few hours later, Bertie Morris studied a fine company with a critic's eye. He knew most of the people in the famous salle à manger, and put himself up several pegs on the strength of his knowledge.
"Say, there are some glad frocks—what?"
Faber, who had a little bundle of papers in his hand, looked round and about for the first time. "All friends of yours?" he asked slyly.
Bertie showed a row of gold-rimmed teeth.
"Know most of them. Newspaper people must. That's young Mrs. Vanderbilt; the Countess Sobenski's next to her. Of course, you recognize Steel—and the Great Man. He's as good as he's great—a hundred and forty papers and more than one Cabinet Minister pretty fond of him. Beyond him is Sir Charles. Did you ever hear him speak? About the best hindleg man they've got over yonder. Oughtn't to have been an actor—he'd have run Canterbury better. Who the next lot are, can't say. The flaxen-haired one is a d——d fine girl—I don't think. Wonder who she is?"
Faber smiled. "She's a parson's daughter—no good to you. There's Sir Jules Achon and his daughter, but who the little girl in black may be, I don't know; she looks like a French girl."
"I'll ask Ellis; he's a 'Who's Who' here. Fine chap, Ellis, ought to have got the K.G.G. when he was in London."
"What's the K.G.G. anyway?"