In the first place, Sir Timothy was a great
deal more silent than usual. A certain vein of half-cynical,
half-amusing comment upon things and people of the moment, which
seemed, whenever he cared to exert himself, to flow from his lips
without effort, had deserted him. He sat where the rather
brilliant light from the high windows fell upon his face, and
Francis wondered more than once whether there were not some
change there, perhaps some prescience of trouble to come, which
had subdued him and made him unusually thoughtful. Another
slighter but more amusing feature of the luncheon was the number
of people who stopped to shake hands with Sir Timothy and made
more or less clumsy efforts to obtain an invitation to his coming
entertainment. Sir Timothy's reply to these various hints was
barely cordial. The most he ever promised was that he would
consult with his secretary and see if their numbers were already
full. Lady Cynthia, as a somewhat blatant but discomfited Peer
of the Realm took his awkward leave of them, laughed softly.
"Of course, I think they all deserve what they get," she
declared. "I never heard such brazen impudence in my life--from
people who ought to know better, too."
Lord Meadowson, a sporting peer, who was one of Sir Timothy's few
intimates, came over to the table.
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