The rumour ran that Captain Deverax had arrived, and every
one agreed that he must be an insufferable booby, except the Countess
Ruhl, who never used her fluent exotic English to say ill of anybody.
The gilded halls of the Metropole certainly were imposing. The hotel was
incontestably larger than the Beau-Site, newer, more richly furnished.
Its occupants, too, had a lordly way with them, trying to others, but
inimitable. Hence the visitors from the Beau-Site, as they moved to and
fro beneath those crystal chandeliers from Tottenham Court Road, had
their work cut out to maintain the mien of haughty indifference. Nellie,
for instance, frankly could not do it. And Denry did not do it very
well. Denry, nevertheless, did score one point over Mrs Clutterbuck's
fussy cousin.
"Captain Deverax has come," said this latter. "He was very late. He'll
be downstairs in a few minutes. We shall get him to lead the cotillon."
"Captain Deverax?" Denry questioned.
"Yes. You've heard us mention him," said the cousin, affronted.
"Possibly," said Denry. "I don't remember."
On hearing this brief colloquy the cohorts of the Beau-Site felt that in
Denry they possessed the making of a champion.
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