‘If the choice lies between Piquet and a good, old-fashioned round game, you’ve sold your idea, Joe. I’ll co-operate.’

He beamed with gratitude, and might, she felt, have patted her on the back had they not by this time reached the drawing-room.

Neither Stephen nor Mottisfont had as yet come downstairs, but the other three guests had assembled, and were standing about, drinking cocktails, while Maud, who said that she never touched spirits, was hunting ineffectively for the Life of the Empress, which she remembered having laid down somewhere, though she wasn’t sure where. She rather unwisely asked Paula if she had seen it, and Paula, who was wrapped in gloomy reflection, came to earth with a start, and a gesture of insupportable irritation.

‘I?’ she said. ‘What, in God’s name, should I want with your book?’

‘I only wondered, dear,’ said Maud mildly. ‘I remember having it here after lunch. Or did I take it up with me when I went for my rest?’

Paula threw her an exasperated glance, and began to pace about the room, once more wrapped in her dark thoughts.

Valerie, after making several vain attempts to flirt with Roydon, who seemed as dejected as Paula, flounced over to the fire, looking sulky. Here Joseph joined her, paying her a few fulsome compliments, and really doing his best, Mathilda thought, to entertain her.

But Valerie did not want to flirt with Joseph; Valerie was finding the party very dull, and since she did not belong to a generation trained to be polite to its elders she snubbed Joseph, and told Maud that she hadn’t seen her book and wouldn’t know it from another if she did see it.

Roydon brought a cocktail to Mathilda, and lingered undecidedly beside her. After a few desultory remarks, he suddenly said in a burst of confidence: ‘I’ve been thinking over what you’ve said, and I’ve come to the conclusion you’re right. I shall try it out again. After all, I haven’t tried Henry Stafford. He might like it. He put on Fevered Night, you know, and it only ran for a week. I shan’t bother about backers any more. You’re quite right: the play is strong enough to stand on its own legs.’

Mathilda could not recall having made such a statement, but she was glad that Roydon, who, so short a time since, had been in despair over Nathaniel’s refusal to back his play, had recovered his optimism, and she cordially applauded his decision. Edgar Mottisfont then came in, saying that he hoped he hadn’t been keeping everyone waiting, and was chatty, in a determined way, until Joseph asked him if he had seen Nat or Stephen. This seemed to bring the memory of his interview with Nathaniel unpleasantly to mind, and he said No, he hadn’t seen either of them, and relapsed into a depressed silence.

Stephen lounged in a few minutes later, similarly taciturn, and everybody glanced at the clock, and wished that Nathaniel would hurry up.