'Not,' he
repeated strongly. 'Here's the place.' They had turned into a busy
street. 'I hope there won't be a band.'
'I hope there will be. I want noises, hideous noises.'
'You're going to get them,' he sighed as he pushed open the swing-door
and received in his ears the fierce banging, braying and shrieking of
various instruments played in a frenzy by a group of musicians
confined, as if for the public safety, in a small gallery at the end
of the room. Large and encumbered by the bag, he stood obstructing the
waiters in the passage between the tables.
'They're like wild beasts in a cage,' he said in the loud voice of his
anger. 'Can you stand it?'
'Oh, yes--yes. Let us sit here, in this corner.' He was ridiculous,
she thought, yet to-night, unconscious of any absurdity himself, he
had a dignity; he was not so ugly as she had thought; his somewhat
protruding eyes had less vacancy, and though his tie was crooked, she
was not ashamed of him. Nevertheless, she said as he sat down,
'Charles, I'm going to London to-night. Get a time-table.'
'Soup first,' he said.
'I must go to-night. I can't go back to Radstowe.'
'Did you,' he asked unexpectedly, 'leave a note on your dressing-table?'
'What?' She frowned. 'No, of course not.'
'Oh, well, you can go back. We're going to a concert together. It's
quite easy. I told you you were different from everybody else.' And
then, remembering Rose's words, he leaned across the table towards
her.
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