“You find our Russian folk-song amusing?”
“Wonderful!”
“If, by any chance, you should remember that I am at home on Thursdays, there is a song I think that might interest you.” She let her eyes rest on him with a curious stillness in their depths:
“The song is called Lada,” she said in a voice so low that he just heard her. The next moment she was taking leave of Palla; kissed her. Vanya enveloped her in her wrap.
Estridge called up a taxi; and presently went away with Ilse.
Very slowly Palla came back to the centre of the room, where Shotwell stood. The scent of flowers was in his nostrils, his throat; the girl herself seemed saturated with their perfume as he took her into his arms.
“So you didn’t like my friends, Jim,” she ventured.
“Yes, I did.”
“I was afraid they might have shocked you.”