‘In these unhappy times, alas,’ said Sir Henry blandly, arming Troy through the door, ‘one may not make those gestures with which one would wish to honour a distinguished visitor! “A poor small banquet,” as old Capulet had it. Shall we go in?’

The poor small banquet was, if nothing else, a tribute to the zeal of Sir Henry’s admirers in the Dominions and the United States of America. Troy had not seen its like for years. He himself, she noticed, ate a mess of something that had been put through a sieve. Conversation was general, innocuous, and sounded a little as if it had been carefully memorized beforehand. It was difficult not to look at Miss Orrincourt’s diamonds. They were a sort of visual faux pas which no amount of blameless small-talk could shout down. Troy observed that the Ancreds themselves constantly darted furtive glances at them. Sir Henry continued bland, urbane, and, to Troy, excessively gracious. She found his compliments, which were adroit, rather hard to counter. He spoke of her work and asked if she had done a self-portrait. ‘Only in my student days when I couldn’t afford a model,’ said Troy. ‘But that’s very naughty of you,’ he said. ‘It is now that you should give us the perfect painting of the perfect subject.’

‘Crikey!’ thought Troy.

They drank Rudesheimer. When Barker hovered beside him, Sir Henry, announcing that it was a special occasion, said he would take half a glass. Millamant and Pauline looked anxiously at him.

‘Papa, darling,’ said Pauline. ‘Do you think—?’ And Millamant murmured: ‘Yes, Papa. Do you think—?’

‘Do I think what?’ he replied, glaring at them.

‘Wine,’ they murmured disjointedly. ‘Dr Withers…not really advisable…however.’

‘Fill it up, Barker,’ Sir Henry commanded loudly, ‘fill it up.’ Troy heard Pauline and Millamant sigh windily.

Dinner proceeded with circumspection but uneasily. Paul and Fenella were silent. Cedric, on Troy’s right hand, conversed in feverish spasms with anybody who would listen to him. Sir Henry’s flow of compliments continued unabated through three courses, and to Troy’s dismay, Miss Orrincourt began to show signs of marked hostility. She was on Sir Henry’s left, with Paul on her other side. She began an extremely grand conversation with Paul, and though he responded with every sign of discomfort she lowered her voice, cast significant glances at him, and laughed immoderately at his monosyllabic replies. Troy, who was beginning to find her host very heavy weather indeed, seized an opportunity to speak to Cedric.

‘Noddy,’ said Miss Orrincourt at once, ‘what are we going to do tomorrow?’

‘Do?’ he repeated, and after a moment’s hesitation became playful. ‘What does a little girl want to do?’

Miss Orrincourt stretched her arms above her head. ‘She wants things to happen!’ she cried ecstatically, ‘Lovely things.’

‘Well, if she’s very, very good perhaps we’ll let her have a tiny peep at a great big picture.’