It was therefore into this _milieu_ that David found himself
introduced one Thursday at the end of November, 1901. He had walked
the short distance from Great Portland Street station. It was a fine
day with a red sunset, and a lemon-coloured, thin moon-crescent
above the sunset. The trees and bushes of Park Crescent were a
background of dull blue haze. The surface of the broad roads was dry
and polished, so his neat, patent-leather boots would still be fit
for drawing-room carpets.
A footman in a very plain livery--here Michael was firm--opened the
massive door. David passed between some statuary of too frank a
style for Linda's modest taste and was taken over by a butler of
severe aspect who announced him into the great drawing-room as Mr.
David Williams.
He recognized Rossiter at once, standing up with a tea-cup and
saucer, and presumed that a fluffy, much be-furbelowed little lady
at the main tea-table was Mrs. Rossiter, since she wore no hat.
There was besides a rather alarming concourse of men and women of
the world as he kept his eyes firmly fixed on Mrs. Rossiter for his
immediate goal.
Rossiter met him half-way, shook hands cordially and introduced him
to his wife who bowed with one of her "sweet" looks. For the moment
David did not interest her. She was much more interested in trying
to give an impression of profundity to Lady Feenix who was
commenting on the professor's discoveries of the strange properties
of the thyroid gland.
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