The Earl sounded distracted as he set out their route for the next day. Pat kept her eyes fixed on his face, attempting to demonstrate her absorption in shooting to the exclusion of all else. She could feel Haworth’s gaze on her skin and knew a decided sinking sensation when it was time to go into dinner.

Buck up, girl, she told herself as she seated herself opposite him. If nobody else is going to put him in his place, you can show Fen how it’s done.

The meal began, if not well, at least adequately, with a manful effort by Preston Keynes to start a conversation by offering, apropos of nothing at all, an anecdote about a visit to a theatre he’d made earlier in the year where a man had had to be removed for shouting Irish Nationalist slogans.

“Oh, we saw that show,” Bill said. “Jimmy and I. No Irish nationalists then, though. It was a good piece, I thought.”

“Jolly good,” Jimmy said, so flatly that it caused an embarrassed silence. This time Mr. Bouvier-Lynes leapt in with a story about a well-known actress that got a few laughs, although it caused the Countess to purse her lips. Miss Singh restored decorum by speaking with knowledge and surprising animation about the work of George Bernard Shaw, a playwright whose intellectual pretensions were over the heads of most of the party.

“I saw Captain Brassbound’s Conversion,” Fen offered unexpectedly. “That’s Mr. Shaw, isn’t it?”

“One of his comedies. Did you like it?” Miss Singh asked.

“It was very...” Fen hesitated. “Thoughtful. It had more talking than I expected for a play about lady explorers and smugglers and Moorish castles.”

“Were you hoping for melodrama?” Miss Singh’s smile robbed the words of offence.

“Yes, honestly, I was,” Fen said. “I like spectacles and adventures and excitement and sweeping passions. And chariot races! Jimmy took me to see Ben-Hur at the Savoy, you know, with the race and the horses, and it was desperately thrilling, wasn’t it?”

There was a pause. Pat couldn’t see Fen, on Jimmy’s other side, without leaning forward in an ill-mannered way, but she could well imagine her smile faltering. She wondered if she ought to kick his ankle, even as Bill said, “Was it, Jimmy?”

“What?”

“Miss Carruth was just saying how you took her to Ben-Hur and that it was thrilling.” Bill’s voice had a decided edge. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Jimmy’s lips parted. He didn’t reply.

“For heaven’s sake, are you mute?” Lady Anna said, with contempt that sounded to Pat more than just sisterly. “We saw it, didn’t we, Jack? A ridiculous noisy farrago only fit for the feeble-minded.”

Pat heard Fen’s intake of breath; saw the tiny smile curve Haworth’s thin lips. The Countess said, “Anna.”