During intervals between the courses women reft from intimate conversation looked across at each other’s tables yearningly. Mrs Hillier held out by the fringe for a friend’s admiration a beautiful crêpe-de-chine scarf she had bought from the shops. She had chosen it for a wedding present, but it was such a lovely green that she could not resist wearing it, just till this evening, to take out the creases. The three pretty daughters of a London doctor at a table in one of the windows maintained their high level of uproariousness. They were the first to be interrupted by Mr Lee-Mittison, who was going a round of the tables with an open botany-case. He showed them the roots of a very uncommon anemone, found in the hills. The three Lawrences turned their shining heads to wrinkle up their noses at the botany-case, but Mr Lee-Mittison was not to be discouraged. He dangled one of the roots at them; his teeth and his glasses glittered benevolently.

‘My wife and I,’ he said, ‘hope to make another expedition to the hills tomorrow, taking with us provisions for a picnic. We shall be delighted for you three young ladies to accompany us.’ He rested a hand on Veronica Lawrence’s chair and beamed down on the top of her head. The Lawrences made round eyes at each other and tittered unabashedly. Their father, to show that he was in no way responsible for them, leaned back and looked out of the window. ‘There is a special invitation,’ continued their friend, ‘for Miss Veronica, whom I know to be an excellent walker.’ He clicked the lid of the botany-case, winked respectfully at Veronica and passed on to another table.

The Lawrences had appropriated for general use the principal young man of the Hotel, young Mr Ammering, who, having been unable to find a job since the war, was said to be suffering from nervous depression in consequence and had come out here for a rest with his father and mother. He seemed to be one of those young men of thirty (Public School and University education, active, keen sportsman, good general capacities) who advertise their willingness to try anything in the Personal column of The Times. Enforced inactivity must come very hard on poor Mr Ammering, who played tennis all day long with a set face and went out at nights with the Lawrences to dances at other hotels, where he talked to his partners most beautifully about the War.