Page:Herbert Jenkins - The Rain Girl.djvu/153

 their meal. The train had been late, and he had taken his time to dress. It was nearly nine o'clock.

He wished the buzzing in his ears would stop, and that his heart would not behave quite so ridiculously. That bout of pneumonia had obviously taken it out of him. Would the cocktail never come?

With thankfulness he saw the waiter approaching. Suddenly the man started to whirl round, three or four tables seemed to join in. Had the lights gone mad, the buzzing in his ears, the

Beresford opened his eyes wearily and looked about him. "The Rain-Girl," he murmured and, closing them again, he sighed his content. "He's delirious, poor fellow," some one murmured.

"Shall I have him taken to his room, madam?" enquired the maître d'hôtel.

"No," said the Rain-Girl decisively. "Let him remain here, and ask the others to go to their places."

Reluctantly the crowd of diners retreated to the background. Some returned to their tables, others, too curious to be denied, stood watching Beresford's recumbent form as he lay on the dining-room floor, his head pillowed on a hassock, the Rain-Girl kneeling beside him.

Presently he opened his eyes again and smiled up at her. She returned the smile.

"What have they been doing?" he asked faintly,