Heaven, there was plenty of hair. Not that Harmony saw all this
at once. As he tacked to and fro round the tables, with a nod
here and a word there, she got a sort of ensemble effect--a tall
man, possibly thirty, broadshouldered, somewhat stooped, as tall
men are apt to be. And shabby, undeniably shabby!

The shabbiness was a shock. A much-braided officer, trim from the
points of his mustache to the points of his shoes, rose to speak
to him. The shabbiness was accentuated by the contrast. Possibly
the revelation was an easement to the girl's nervousness. This
smiling and unpressed individual, blithely waving aloft the Paris
edition of the "Herald" and equally blithely ignoring the
maledictions of the student from whom he had taken it--even
Scatchy could not have called him a vulture or threatened him
with the police.

He placed the paper before her and sat down at her side, not to
interfere with her outlook over the room.

"Warmer?" he asked.

"Very much."

"Coffee is coming. And cinnamon cakes with plenty of sugar. They
know me here and they know where I live. They save the sugariest
cakes for me. Don't let me bother you; go on and read. See which
of the smart set is getting a divorce--or is it always the same
one? And who's President back home."

"I'd rather look round. It's curious, isn't it?"