He took the cigarettes from the waiter and lighted one.
When the man had gone, Esme remarked:
“Everybody seems to be going away. Nobody left soon—but us.”
“H’m.”
“I love Brighton. Don’t you love the sea? I do—and the hills—oh, I love the hills!”
Quite suddenly Wynne said:
“Must you talk such a lot?”
“Oh,” said Esme, “you old cross patch.”
A party of people at a round table in the centre of the room rose and moved toward the door.