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--" 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 ARNAUD takes up the vase that has been superseded, and follows him out.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 coat, is standing by her table, holding out his hand with a sort of bashful hardiness. YOUNG MAN. How d'you do? Didn't recognize you at first. So sorry --awfully rude of me. CLARE'S eyes seem to fly from him, to appeal to him, to resign herself all at once. Something in the YOUNG MAN responds. He drops his hand. CLARE. [Faintly] How d'you do? YOUNG MAN. [Stammering] You--you been down there to-day? CLARE. Where? YOUNG MAN. [With a smile] The Derby. What? Don't you generally go down? [He touches the other chair] May I? CLARE. [Almost in a whisper] Yes. As he sits down, ARNAUD returns and stands before them. ARNAUD. The plovers' eggs veree good to-night, Sare. Veree good, Madame. A peach or two, after. Veree good peaches. The Roederer, Sare--not bad at all. Madame likes it frappe, but not too cold--yes? [He is away again to his service-table.] YOUNG
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