Moving on, they became lost in a plantation
of bushes, and then suddenly found themselves outside the drawing-room,
where the ladies and gentlemen, having dined well, lay back in
deep arm-chairs, occasionally speaking or turning over the pages of
magazines. A thin woman was flourishing up and down the piano.
"What is a dahabeeyah, Charles?" the distinct voice of a widow, seated
in an arm-chair by the window, asked her son.
It was the end of the piece, and his answer was lost in the general
clearing of throats and tapping of knees.
"They're all old in this room," Rachel whispered.
Creeping on, they found that the next window revealed two men in
shirt-sleeves playing billiards with two young ladies.
"He pinched my arm!" the plump young woman cried, as she missed her
stroke.
"Now you two--no ragging," the young man with the red face reproved
them, who was marking.
"Take care or we shall be seen," whispered Helen, plucking Rachel by the
arm. Incautiously her head had risen to the middle of the window.
Turning the corner they came to the largest room in the hotel, which was
supplied with four windows, and was called the Lounge, although it was
really a hall. Hung with armour and native embroideries, furnished with
divans and screens, which shut off convenient corners, the room was less
formal than the others, and was evidently the haunt of youth.
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