One of these, a masterful-looking man of middle age--he would surely be a wealthy club-man accustomed to command tables--regarded the filled row around the dancing space with frank irritation, and paused significantly at Merton's side.

He seemed about to voice a demand, but the young actor glanced slowly up at him, achieving a superb transition--surprise, annoyance, and, as the invader turned quickly away, pitying contempt.
"Atta boy!" said his companion, who was, with the aid of a tiny gold-backed mirror suspended with the cigarette case, heightening the crimson of her full lips.
Two cameras were now in view, and men were sighting through them.

Merton saw Henshaw, plump but worried looking, scan the scene from the rear.

He gave hurried direction to an assistant who came down the line of tables with a running glance at their occupants.

He made changes.