“There’s something missing,” he declared.
“But what?” She looked at herself in the mirror again.
“Why these.” Richard produced from behind his back a large bunch of Parma violets.
“Oh, but how lovely, Richard — give them to me quickly.” She took the violets and held them to her face, smiling at him over the tight mass; he thought her eyes were an even more lovely colour than the flowers over which they peeped.
“Come along,” he said, cheerfully, “or Gerry will have drunk all the cocktails!”
“Cocktails?” she asked, puzzled. “What is that?”
“Sort of drink we have in these nice old capitalist countries,” he laughed. “Rex can tell you more about them than I can.” As they walked down the corridor he thought to himself what a lot of delightful things this child of the backwoods had yet to learn; he didn’t suppose she’d ever been to a dance or play, or even seen a sea warm enough to bathe in. What fun it would be to show her all those things. The sight of Gerry Bruce’s lean face, as he sat waiting for them in the lounge, reminded him sharply that there was some very urgent business to be done before he could show anybody anything!
“Well, Dickybird!” Bruce greeted him, cheerfully. “Ordered in the caviare for your impecunious friend?”
“Lots of it,” said Richard. “Brought half a dozen sturgeon with me in the ’plane last night!”
Marie Lou was introduced to the mystery of cocktails, and shortly after they were seated at a little round table in the restaurant, consuming an excellent lunch.