At Birkin's table was a girl with dark, soft, fluffy hair cut short in
the artist fashion, hanging level and full almost like the Egyptian
princess's. She was small and delicately made, with warm colouring and
large, dark hostile eyes. There was a delicacy, almost a beauty in all
her form, and at the same time a certain attractive grossness of
spirit, that made a little spark leap instantly alight in Gerald's
eyes.

Birkin, who looked muted, unreal, his presence left out, introduced her
as Miss Darrington. She gave her hand with a sudden, unwilling
movement, looking all the while at Gerald with a dark, exposed stare. A
glow came over him as he sat down.

The waiter appeared. Gerald glanced at the glasses of the other two.
Birkin was drinking something green, Miss Darrington had a small
liqueur glass that was empty save for a tiny drop.

'Won't you have some more--?'

'Brandy,' she said, sipping her last drop and putting down the glass.
The waiter disappeared.

'No,' she said to Birkin. 'He doesn't know I'm back. He'll be terrified
when he sees me here.'

She spoke her r's like w's, lisping with a slightly babyish
pronunciation which was at once affected and true to her character. Her
voice was dull and toneless.

'Where is he then?' asked Birkin.