But it isn't good form to talk about the price of a lunch you are invited to." Laughing light-heartedly, they plunged into a labyrinth of dark streets.
The west wind had brought a gentle rain with it now.

It was benignant upon their faces, with a suggestion of grasses and spring flowers pushing their heads above the earth.

They passed by the Soho restaurants, crowded to the doors.

They found one at last in a more pretentious street.
Over the dinner they laughed and talked.

There was something intoxicating to Robin Drummond's somewhat phlegmatic nature in their being together after this friendly fashion.
"You have a crease in your forehead, just above your nose," he said, while they waited for their salmon, the waiter having removed the plates from which they had eaten their _bisque_.