traveller...

She became aware that the master of Monk's Crofton had placed his hand
on hers and was holding it in a tightening grip. She looked down and
gave a little shiver. She had always disliked Bruce Carmyle's hands.
They were strong and bony and black hair grew on the back of them. One
of the earliest feelings regarding him had been that she would hate to
have those hands touching her. But she did not move. Again that vision
of the old garden had flickered across her mind... a haven where she
could rest...

He was leaning towards her, whispering in her ear. The room was hotter
than it had ever been, noisier than it had ever been, fuller than it had
ever been. The bird on the roof was singing again and now she understood
what it said. "Take me out of this!" Did anything matter except that?
What did it matter how one was taken, or where, or by whom, so that one
was taken.

Monk's Crofton was looking cool and green and peaceful...

"Very well," said Sally.

3

Bruce Carmyle, in the capacity of accepted suitor, found himself at
something of a loss. He had a dissatisfied feeling. It was not the
manner of Sally's acceptance that caused this. It would, of course, have
pleased him better if she had shown more warmth, but he was prepared to
wait for warmth. What did trouble him was the fact that his correct mind
perceived now for the first time that he had chosen an unsuitable moment
and place for his outburst of emotion. He belonged to the orthodox
school of thought which looks on moonlight and solitude as the proper
setting for a proposal of marriage; and the surroundings of the Flower
Garden, for all its nice-ness and the nice manner in which it was
conducted, jarred upon him profoundly.

Music had begun again, but it was not the soft music such as a lover
demands if he is to give of his best. It was a brassy, clashy rendering
of a ribald one-step, enough to choke the eloquence of the most ardent.
Couples were dipping and swaying and bumping into one another as far
as the eye could reach; while just behind him two waiters had halted in
order to thrash out one of those voluble arguments in which waiters
love to indulge. To continue the scene at the proper emotional level
was impossible, and Bruce Carmyle began his career as an engaged man by
dropping into Smalltalk.

"Deuce of a lot of noise," he said querulously.

"Yes," agreed Sally.

"Is it always like this?"

"Oh, yes."

"Infernal racket!"

"