Ann bestowed a second glance on the man in question. He was wearing evening
kit, and at first sight the brown-skinned face above the white of his
collar, taken in conjunction with dark hair and very strongly-marked brows,
seemed to premise the correctness of Tony's surmise. Suddenly the man
lifted his bent head, and over the top of the newspaper Arm found herself
looking into a pair of unmistakably grey eyes--grey as steel. They were
very direct eyes, with a certain brooding discontent in their depths which
looked as though it might flame out into sudden scorn with very little
provocation.

She dropped her glance in some confusion. She felt rather as though she had
been caught looking over her neighbour's garden wall. There had been an
ironical glint in the regard which the grey eyes had levelled at her that
suggested their owner might have overheard Tony's frank comment. Under
cover of a fortissimo finale on the part of the orchestra she leant forward
and spoke in a low voice:

"He's as English as you are, Tony. No one but an Englishman ever had grey
eyes like that."

But Tony's interest had evaporated. The band's final burst of enthusiasm
heralded the finish of the first part of the programme and the consequent
opening of the tables for boule. With a hurried "Come along, quick," he
jumped up and, with Ann beside him, was first in the van of the throng
which was hastening into the rooms to play. In a few moments the gaily-lit
terrace was practically deserted, and an eager-faced crowd pressed up
against the green-clothed tables, each individual eager to secure a good
place.