It looked as if a scene was inevitable. Terry's hands gripped the sides
of the table and the colour came flooding into his face; he looked like
some wild animal about to spring. And meanwhile, breaking into the
uneasy silence, came the sound of Severn's voice, smooth and exquisite
in a language I didn't recognize, much less understand. He was obviously
making some witticism, and the woman answered him by a tinkling little
chime of laughter. The very loveliness of it and of her was like a goad.
And then, just when I was beginning to wonder if it would be possible to
manœuvre Terry out of the room without a disturbance, Severn looked
round and saw us.
As an exhibition of _sang-froid_ I have never in my life seen anything
to equal what happened then. Severn and the woman hadn't quite reached
their table when he saw us, and immediately, with a few swift words and
gestures, he changed his direction and came over to us, bringing the
woman with him. Not a muscle of his face or an inflexion of his voice
betrayed the slightest embarrassment. "My dear Hilton, to think of
finding _you_ here!" He shook hands with me cordially. "And Terry as
well--how _are_ you both?" Somehow or other he had got hold of Terry's
hand and had shaken it. "On business here, are you? Or is it pleasure?
Or both? ... Well, really, things _do_ happen, don't they?" (Decidedly
they did, I thought.) "Of course you will breakfast with me. You have
had breakfast? Then you will have some more coffee, at any rate, at my
table ... I insist.... And I must introduce my friend--doubtless her
name will be familiar to you--Madame Lydia Danopoulos, the
_danseuse_--quite one of the most fascinating ladies in this half of
Europe.... She doesn't speak English or German, but just a little
French, I think...." He addressed a few rapid words to her, amongst
which I could recognize our names, and she favoured us with a graceful
but rather distant bow.
A minute later we were all sitting together at Severn's table. The whole
thing had happened so quickly that I could hardly realize what it was
that _had_ happened; and that, I suppose, was Severn's method, as
successful with us as it usually was with the most hostile police-court
witness. But to have reduced Terry in a moment from the highest pitch of
excitement to a calm level of slightly sullen taciturnity was more than
a method; it was a miracle.
But now, when I look back upon that extraordinary breakfast-party, it
seems to me that it was nothing but a miracle altogether--or rather,
perhaps, an infinite series of miracles. Imagine, if you can, a long and
brilliant monologue, punctuated by staccato translations into modern
Greek and consequent bursts of silvery feminine laughter. Imagine me
sitting there making a few interjectory remarks from time to time, and
Terry sitting there making no remarks at all, and the waiters hovering
round us and wondering (very possibly) why we hadn't made ourselves
known to one another on the previous evening.... But the really
marvellous thing was that Severn's improvisation wasn't only brilliant
and witty; it was also very subtly and dangerously reassuring. More than
once I caught myself wondering whether Terry and I hadn't made a
thundering mistake. The man's whole attitude was so frank and disarming;
he told us exactly how he had met Madame Danopoulos at Bukarest, and how
her company had considerably relieved the tedium of the Pan-Balkan
Conference, at which he had had the misfortune to be the representative
of His Britannic Majesty. Madame had been on her way to Buda-Pesth, and
he, after the Conference, had promised to visit some Embassy friends at
Warsaw; so what more natural than that they should share together the
dust and heat of a midsummer journey? It was sheer luck, he added, that
he had seen us, for otherwise his departure for Warsaw that morning
would have removed the happy opportunity....
Terry, as I have said, was speechless. Not till Severn rose from his
chair did he utter a word, and then, very calmly and deliberately, he
said: "I would like to speak to you, if you don't mind ... alone.... Can
you spare a few minutes?"
Severn seemed quite genuinely surprised. "Why, of course," he replied.
"But why alone? Surely you don't mind Hilton----"
"I want _you_ to be alone," said Terry.
"But--surely--if Madame, who knows no English, will excuse us----"
"No, no. It must be alone--if you don't mind. And not here."
Severn glanced at him curiously and then answered after a pause: "As you
wish, then. But my train is at ten, remember. Shall we say half-an-hour
from now--in the lounge?"
And so it was arranged.