‘Ah, Carabbas!’ said Sir Henry, and stroked it, looking graciously awhile upon his family and guest. ‘This is pleasant,’ he said, including them in a beautiful gesture. For a moment his gaze rested on Miss Orrincourt’s bosom. ‘Charming,’ he said. ‘A conversation piece. Ah! A glass of sherry.’

Paul and Fenella dispensed the sherry, which was extremely good. Rather elaborate conversation was made, Sir Henry conducting it with the air of giving an audition. ‘But I thought,’ he said, ‘that Cedric was to join us. Didn’t you tell me, Millamant—’

‘I’m so sorry he’s late, Papa,’ said Millamant. ‘He had an important letter to write, I know. I think perhaps he didn’t hear the gong.’

‘Indeed? Where have you put him?’

‘In Garrick, Papa.’

‘Then he certainly must have heard the gong.’

Barker came in and announced dinner.

‘We shall not, I think, wait for Cedric,’ Sir Henry continued. He removed the cat, Carabbas, from his knees and rose. His family rose with him. ‘Mrs Alleyn, may I have the pleasure of taking you in?’ he said.

‘It’s a pity,’ Troy thought as she took the arm he curved for her, ‘that there isn’t an orchestra.’ And as if she had recaptured the lines from some drawing-room comedy of her childhood, she made processional conversation as they moved towards the door. Before they reached it, however, there was a sound of running footsteps in the hall. Cedric, flushed with exertion and wearing a white flower in his dinner-jacket, darted into the room.

‘Dearest Grandpapa,’ he cried, waving his hands, ‘I creep, I grovel. So sorry, truly. Couldn’t be more contrite. Find me some sackcloth and ashes somebody, quickly.’

‘Good evening, Cedric,’ said Sir Henry icily. ‘You must make your apologies to Mrs Alleyn, who will perhaps be very kind and forgive you.’

Troy smiled like a duchess at Cedric and inwardly grinned like a Cheshire cat at herself.

‘Too heavenly of you,’ said Cedric quickly. He slipped in behind them. The procession had splayed out a little on his entrance. He came face to face with Miss Orrincourt. Troy heard him give a curious, half-articulate exclamation. It sounded involuntary and unaffected. This was so unusual from Cedric that Troy turned to look at him. His small mouth was open. His pale eyes stared blankly at the diamond star on Miss Orrincourt’s bosom, and then turned incredulously from one member of his family to another.

‘But’—he stammered—‘but, I say—I say.’

‘Cedric,’ whispered his mother.

‘Cedric,’ said his grandfather imperatively.

But Cedric, still speaking in that strangely natural voice, pointed a white finger at the diamond star and said loudly: ‘But, my God, it’s Great-Great-Grandmama Ancred’s sunburst!’

‘Nice, isn’t it?’ said Miss Orrincourt equally loudly. ‘I’m ever so thrilled.’