Now that he was actually on the eve of what he had looked forward to for the last six weeks, he felt an unaccountable nervousness and hesitation. For some reason he could not understand, he kept his eyes straight in front of him instead of singling out the Rain-Girl from the other guests. She was there, he knew, because she had told him that her stay would last the Season. What was he to say to her? Would she recognize him and, if so, would she acknowledge him?
He was so absorbed in his own thoughts as to be unconscious of the arrival of the hors d'œuvres. A discreet cough on the part of the waiter, bending solicitously towards him, brought back his wandering attention to the business of the moment.
As he helped himself he swiftly envisaged the guests on his left. She was not there. For some minutes his gaze did not wander from that part of the room. Now that he was on the eve of finding her, he seemed almost afraid to do so. He wanted to retain as long as possible the delicious feeling of suspense. It was only by a supreme effort of will that he controlled himself sufficiently to scrutinise his fellow-guests, first quickly, then slowly and with method.
By the time he was half through the fish, it was becoming increasingly clear to him that the Rain-Girl was not in the dining-room. In spite of the growing conviction that she was not there, he now became almost feverish in his anxiety to discover her beneath some disguising hat.
