"You mean Jim and Violet?"
"Everybody, bless them!" she answered, pointing with her fan through the door of the ballroom.
In an alcove looking on to the terrace Valentine Arden was smoking a cigarette and idly watching the pageant. There was a ghostly, 'end-of-season' look about his white face and the dark rings round his eyes.
"One was wondering if you brought any news from town?" he drawled. "You came to-day?"
"I suppose so," I said. It seemed more than eight hours since we held our council of war on the rampart of suitcases.
"One assumes there will be no actual fighting," he went on.
"I shouldn't assume anything," I said.
A shadow of annoyance settled on his weary young face.
"One intended bringing out another book this autumn," he observed.