“‘All-dressed-up-and-nowhere-to-go,’” hummed one. “Why, Carstairs, when did you get here?”
He shook hands with an agitated young Englishman who was peering over the heads and under the arms of his neighbours.
“Hullo, Long! I left Washington last night. You’ve not seen my wife, have you?”
“Lady John was over by the far door a while back. I’ll shew you.”
He took Carstairs by the arm and dragged him through the crowd to a corner where a young woman had entrenched herself behind a row of palm-tubs and a breastwork of wicker chairs.
“Much obliged. I say, what about a drink? Oh, of course, you’re not allowed to. Never mind, there’s a good time ahead of you as soon as you’re out of uniform. By the way, we’re coming to your dinner. Very good of you to ask us.”
The officer bowed and went back to his own group. Carstairs dropped limply into a chair and rang a bell.
“God, what a mob! And what a day! I haven’t had a moment to myself. The horrors of peace!”
His wife pressed his hand sympathetically, and the gold of a new wedding-ring caught and flung back the light from the great arc-lamps.
“Could you do anything about our passages?” she asked.