After tea she grew restless; wanted to see other hotels, to inspect Brighton. The Metropole was too crowded.
"Come with me," she said to Angy; "we'll prospect, and telephone here if we find some nest which suits me."
A cabman gave her information.
"Quiet hotels, but smart, nice? He'd tell of one, yes, miss, he would."
It was only as they went on that Esmé realized the smirk of innuendo on the man's red face.
"Often driven parties there as wanted to be quiet an' comfabul," said Jehu, taking a shilling graciously. "Thank you, lady, and good luck."
Esmé went to two or three places, read the dinner menu carefully, made Angy wonder what restless spirit possessed her, then came to the jarvey's recommendation, a small hotel facing the sea, standing modestly behind a long strip of garden. The garden was full of roses and shrubs, so that the porch was almost concealed.
The lady peering out of the little office was unmistakably French.
"Madame wished to see the dinner menu—but certainly! Madame would want a private room, no doubt; the coffee-room was small and the tables already crowded."
"It is a hotel of private rooms," said Esmé to herself. She went on to a small, dimly-lighted veranda, set with huge palms and cunningly-placed nooks. She paused abruptly.