‘You never think about my shooting.’

‘Of course I do. At least I do if I see someone else trying to be as good as you. I may not be interested in everything you do but I am always loyal, you know that.’

Gilbert’s face, which at the moment was pale, habitually wore an expression of distant hauteur, brought about by his natural arrogance and aggravated by the malfunctioning of his sinuses, but at the thought of his wife’s loyalty a pleased smile crossed his features, giving them briefly a liveliness they too often lacked.

‘I’ll show them. I’ll get a good night and I’ll show them. You’ll see.’

‘Of course you will. You can beat Lionel Stephens any day, conceited young fool.’

‘I don’t think he is a conceited young fool. I will beat him though.’

‘He is conceited. And a prig.’

‘You are only saying that because you are getting bored with Charles and would have liked a flirtation with Lionel. Whereas perhaps he has other preoccupations.’

‘That is the sort of bitter remark we agreed we would never make to each other.’

‘It was not meant to be bitter. I don’t feel bitter. I did once, but I’m getting used to it now.’

‘Please don’t try to sound pathetic. We made an agreement and I have kept to it. You started it, with that disgusting old hag in Maida Vale.’

‘It is quite usual for men to have distractions which don’t affect their devotion to their wives.’

‘My distractions don’t affect my devotion to you. I have never said anything disloyal or in any way let you down in public. Please go now, I’m getting a headache too. It must be infectious.’

He looked at her, remembering almost affectionately how angry she used to make him feel, remembering also with a sense of relief that he no longer found her particularly attractive.

‘Yes, I’ll go. Thank you for the sleeping draught.’

He closed the door quietly behind him. He was sleeping in a room a little further down the passage, Minnie’s forethought having given the Hartlips the Red Room, that was to say the one furthest separated from the dressing room that was usually used with it. Charles Farquhar’s room was on the other side of the Red Room, not next to it but two away. Minnie could be relied upon to get that sort of thing right.

The remaining men were seen to their rooms by Sir Randolph. He did this every night, wandering from room to room – ‘Got everything you want?’ – giving a poke to the fire, glancing round the room. Minnie would usually have done the same with the women; she would have thought it odd for any of them to go to bed except at the moment ordained by her. Some of the men, on the other hand, might stay up later than their host to play cards or smoke; for one of them to go to bed earlier betokened ill-health. Sir Randolph knew that Gilbert Hartlip’s headache must be a bad one. He had known him sit up, white-faced and expressionless but maintaining some sort of conversation, rather than make his excuses and leave his fellow guests to comment upon his weakness. As if it mattered, Sir Randolph thought. He knew a number of men who shot as much as Gilbert and suffered from headaches as a result. He saw no shame in it, and considered Gilbert an odd, cold, proud fish of a fellow. Nevertheless he was a superlative sportsman and Sir Randolph was honoured to have him as his guest – out shooting, that was to say. In the evenings he was not very lively company, unless of course one talked about shooting. He had many fascinating things to say on that subject, but it was uncivilized to talk about sport when the ladies were there.