She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously preoccupied waiters down the thickcarpeted staircase and out of the Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. The carpenter trembled; for he perceived Rowland's gaze fixed first upon the infant, and then on himself. Fifty sent home. She had never even brought a friend home in her time at the Becks, let alone been asked on dates. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. And, if Rachel had not carried a candle, the room would have been plunged in total darkness. He seemed to be labouring under some great excitement. If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. Look at me.
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