"Hullo, Merivale!—fancy meeting you!"
"Thesiger—by all that's strange!—Thought you barred dances?"
"So I do—loathe 'em. But Susan dragged me here. Wait a second, will you?—This confounded glove..."
His friend nodded, leaning against the banisters: a short dark youth with a tiny moustache, that hovered like a butterfly about to take wing under his finely cut aquiline nose.
"What's the name of the people here? I've clean forgotten."
"Cadell," answered Merivale as Thesiger joined him.
"D'you know the hostess by sight?—I promised to meet Susan, but cut it rather fine. Point her out, will you? or give me a description."
"Tall bony woman—face like the Sphinx—and big black pearls, suggesting the prize product of a poultry farm."
"Sounds opulent. What time's supper? I say—there's Kilmarny! Now, who could have brought him?"
"So it is." Merivale waved his hand. "Pity he's getting fat. I suppose Letty Urquhart. Have you heard of that smash?"