"How do you do, Westcott?" he said. Then,
with the sound of his voice, the soft almost caressing tilt of it, Peter
knew who it was. His mind flew back to a day, years ago, when he had flung
himself on the ground and cried his soul out because some one had gone
away....
"Cards!" he cried. "Of all wonderful things!"
Cards of Dawson's--Cards, the magnetic, the brilliant, Cards with his World
and his Society and now slim and dark and romantic as ever, making every
one else in the room shabby beside him, so that Bobby's white waistcoat was
instantly seen to be hanging loosely above his shirt and Peter's trousers
were short, and even the elegant Percival had scarcely covered with perfect
equality the ends of his white tie.
Instantly as though the intervening years had never been, Bobby took his
second place beside Cards' glory--even Percival's intention of securing the
wonderful Mr. Rondel, author of "The Violet's Redemption," for their table,
failed of its effect.
They were enough. They didn't want anybody else--Room for Mr. Cardillac!
And he seized it. Just as he would have seized it years ago at school so
he seized it now. Their table was caught into the most dazzling series of
adventures. Cards had been everywhere, seen everybody and everything--seen
it all, moreover, with the right kind of gaiety, with an appreciation that
was intelligent and also humorous.
Pages:
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459