‘I’m so glad. You’ve come in for a set-piece, haven’t you? All the intrigues and fights. Do you know what will happen after dinner?’ And without waiting for her reply he told her. ‘Papa will propose the King’s health and then I shall propose Papa’s. I’m the eldest son present so I shall have to, but it’s a pity. Claude would be much better. Last year Panty was brought in to do it. I coached her in the “business” and she managed very nicely. Papa cried. This year, because of ringworm and the practical jokes, she hasn’t been invited. Gracious,’ Thomas continued, as Troy helped herself from a dish that had appeared over her shoulder, ‘that’s never New Zealand crayfish! I thought Millamant had decided against it. Has Papa noticed? There’ll be trouble if he has.’

Thomas was right. Sir Henry, when offered this dish, glanced truculently at his daughter-in-law and helped himself to it. An instant silence fell upon the table, and Troy, who was opposite Millamant, saw her make a helpless deprecating grimace at Pauline, who, from the foot of the table, responded by raising her eyebrows.

‘He insisted,’ Millamant whispered to Paul on her left hand.

‘What?’ asked Sir Henry loudly.

‘Nothing, Papa,’ said Millamant.

‘They call this,’ said Sir Henry, addressing himself to Mr Rattisbon, ‘rock lobster. No more like a lobster than my foot. It’s some antipodean shell-fish.’

Furtively watched by his family, he took a large mouthful and at the same time pointed to his glass and added: ‘One must drink something with it. I shall break my rule, Barker. Champagne.’

Barker, with his lips very slightly pursed, filled the glass.

‘That’s a big boy,’ said Miss Orrincourt approvingly. The Ancreds, after a frightened second or two, burst simultaneously into feverish conversation.

‘There,’ said Thomas with an air of sober triumph. ‘What did I tell you? Champagne and hot crayfish. We shall hear more of this, you may depend upon it.’

‘Do be careful,’ Troy murmured nervously, and then, seeing that Sir Henry was in gallant conversation with Jenetta on his left, she added cautiously: ‘Is it so very bad for him?’

‘I promise you,’ said Thomas, ‘disastrous. I don’t think it tastes very nice, anyway,’ he continued after a pause. ‘What do you think?’ Troy had already come to this conclusion. The crayfish, she decided, were dubious.

‘Hide it under your toast,’ said Thomas, ‘I’m going to. It’s the Birthday turkey next, from the home farm. We can fill up on that, can’t we?’

But Sir Henry, Troy noticed, ate all his crayfish.

Apart from this incident, the dinner continued in the same elevated key up to the moment when Sir Henry, with the air of a Field Marshal in Glorious Technicolor, rose and proposed the King.

A few minutes later Thomas, coughing modestly, embarked upon his speech.