At length, with the long post-prandials at
hand, he arose.
Flanking one side of the room, which was large, were windows reaching
from the floor almost to the ceiling, which, when the weather was fair,
were opened, giving access to a garden of small, twisted trees and
tropical plants with small tables beneath, to which the pleasure-loving
population came at night, to sip iced drinks and listen to the music of
the orchestra as it flowed out of the dining-room.
Here Dan made his way and, stepping out of one of the windows, paused
on the garden's edge. The cool air was grateful, and with a sigh of
relief he drew a cigar from his pocket and lighted it slowly, From
beneath the trees came little patters of conversation, and the red
lights of cigarettes and the glint of white gowns enlivened the
darkness.
As he stood there, Virginia Howland and Oddington came out of one of
the windows. The girl was talking vivaciously, familiarly, and
Oddington was laughing. She was in what she would have termed one of
her "Oddington moods," when his personality appealed to her most, when
the congenial bond seemed closest. To-night the lights, the music, the
soft air rustling the lampshades, after all the long days on shipboard,
exalted her. She looked at her companion with kindling eyes.
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