“Coming to Covent Garden?” he said, genially. “I am. So is Kit. She’ll be down soon.”
“Good,” said Julian; “may Jimmy and I have supper at your table?”
“Do,” said Malim. “Plenty of room. We’d better order our food and not wait for her.”
We took our places, and looked round us. The hum of conversation was persistent. It rose above the clatter of the supper tables and the sudden bursts of laughter.
It was now five minutes to twelve. All at once those nearest the door sprang to their feet. A girl in scarlet and black had come in.
“Ah, there’s Kit at last,” said Malim.
“They’re cheering her,” said Julian.
As he spoke, the tentative murmur of a cheer was caught up by everyone. Men leaped upon chairs and tables.
“Hullo, hullo, hullo!” said Kit, reaching us. “Kiddie, when they do that it makes me feel shy.”
She was laughing like a child. She leaned across the table, put her arms round Malim’s neck, and kissed him. She glanced at us.