UD. Milord!

LANGUID VOICE. The Roederer.

ARNAUD. At once, Milord.

CLARE sits tracing a pattern with her finger on the cloth, her
eyes lowered. Once she raises them, and follows ARNAUD's dark
rapid figure.

ARNAUD. [Returning] Madame feels the 'eat? [He scans her with
increased curiosity] You wish something, Madame?

CLARE. [Again giving him that look] Must I order?

ARNAUD. Non, Madame, it is not necessary. A glass of water. [He
pours it out] I have not the pleasure of knowing Madame's face.

CLARE. [Faintly smiling] No.

ARNAUD. Madame will find it veree good 'ere, veree quiet.

LANGUID VOICE. Waiter!

ARNAUD. Pardon! [He goes]

The bare-necked ladies with large hats again pass down the
corridor outside, and again their voices are wafted in: "Tottie!
Not she! Oh! my goodness, she has got a pride on her!"
"Bobbie'll never stick it!" "Look here, dear----" Galvanized
by those sounds, CLARE has caught her cloak and half-risen; they
die away and she subsides.

ARNAUD. [Back at her table, with a quaint shrug towards the
corridor] It is not rowdy here, Madame, as a rule--not as in some
places. To-night a little noise. Madame is fond of flowers? [He
whisks out, and returns almost at once with a bowl of carnations from
some table in the next room] These smell good!

CLARE. You are very kind.

ARNAUD. [With courtesy] Not at all, Madame; a pleasure. [He bows]

A young man, tall, thin, hard, straight, with close-cropped,
sandyish hair and moustache, a face tanned very red, and one of
those small, long, lean heads that only grow in Britain; clad in
a thin dark overcoat thrown open, an opera hat pushed back, a
white waistcoat round his lean middle, he comes in from the
corridor. He looks round, glances at CLARE, passes her table
towards the further room, stops in the doorway, and looks back
at her. Her eyes have just been lifted, and are at once cast
down again. The young man wavers, catches ARNAUD's eye, jerks
his head to summon him, and passes into the further room.
ARNAUD takes up the vase that has been superseded, and follows
him out. And CLARE sits alone in silence, broken by the murmurs
of the languid lord and his partner, behind the screen. She is
breathing as if she had been running hard. She lifts her eyes.
The tall young man, divested of hat and c