Part 14 (2/2)

The cab drew up and they got out, went through the silly swinging doors which separate a man from his girl for a precious moment and into the Palm Court where the band was playing. Peter gave his hat and stick to a disgruntled waiter, who would have told him to check them outside but for his height and width.

The place was extraordinarily full for the time of year. Everywhere there were women, and every one of them was wearing some sort of erect feather in her hat. It gave the place the appearance of a large chicken run after a prolonged fracas. The band was playing the emotional music of _La Boheme_. It was in its best form. The waiter led them to a little table under a mimic window-sill which was crowded with plants. Many heads turned after them as they adventured between the chattering groups. It was so easy to see that their impending marriage had been arranged in Heaven.

”What sort of tea do you like?” asked Peter. ”Anything hot and wet, or have you a choice? Really, I don't know the difference between one and another.”

But Betty did. Hadn't she kept house for her father? ”Orange Pekoe tea,”

she said, ”and b.u.t.tered toast.”

Peter made it so, and in sitting down nearly knocked over the table. He was too big for such places and his legs got in the way of everything.

At the other end of the room Kenyon was sitting with Belle. Betty had seen them at once, but she held her peace. For the first time in her life she appreciated the fact that two is company. Both men were too occupied to recognize anybody.

Peter was very happy and full of enthusiasm about everything, and Betty was an eager listener as he talked about her and himself and the future, while she poured out the tea. It was all very delightful and domestic and new and exhilarating, and it didn't require much imagination on the part of either of them to believe that they were sitting in their own house, far away from people, and that Peter had just come home after a long day's work, and that the band was their new Victrola performing in the corner. Only one thing made Betty aware of the fact that they were in the Ritz Hotel, and that was the pattern of the teacups. She never would have chosen such things, and if they had been given to her as a wedding present she would have packed them away in some far-off cupboard. She had already made up her mind that their first tea service was going to be blue-and-white, because it would go with her drawing-room,--the drawing-room which she had furnished in her dreams.

”I don't think you'd better do that, Peter,” whispered Betty suddenly.

”Do what, darling?” b.u.t.ter wouldn't have melted in his mouth.

”Why, hold my hand. Everybody can see.”

”Not if you put it behind this end of the tablecloth. Besides, what if they can? I'm not ashamed of being in love. Are you?”

”No; I glory in it. But----”

”But what?” He held it tighter.

”I think you'd better give it back to me. There's an old lady frowning.”

”Oh, she's only a poor benighted spinster. And anyhow she's not frowning. She put her eyebrows on in the dark.”

”Very well, Peter. I suppose you know best.” And Betty made no further attempts to rescue her hand.

She had two good reasons for leaving it there,--the first, that she liked it, and the second that she couldn't take it away. But she made sure that it was hidden by the tablecloth.

”Won't you smoke, Peter?”

”Oh, thanks. May I?”

”All the other men are.”

Peter took out his case and his cigarette holder. It was very easy to take out a cigarette with one hand, but for the life of him he couldn't manoeuvre it into the tube. Was he so keen to smoke that he would let her hand go?

He gave it up and broke into a smile that almost made Betty bend forward and plant a resounding kiss on his square chin. ”Well, I'm dashed,” he said. ”I believe you asked me to smoke on purpose to get free.”

”I did,” she said. ”Peter, you're--you're just a darling.”

And that was why he upset the gla.s.s of water.

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