“Like a mill-pond on a night like this.”
“Is your flask filled, Cecil?”
“Yes, grandmama.”
“If you find you’ve forgotten anything, or there’s any little thing you want, we can send it, of course.”
“Thanks, Aunt Di.”
“Rose, my dear, you must really eat something. You’ve had nothing. There’s no use in making yourself ill, you know. That won’t help any of us.”
Lady Aviolet anxiously pressed food upon her daughter-in-law.
“A glass of port, then?”
Rose shook her head.
“Wait a minute,” said Sir Thomas. He pulled himself up from his chair, gouty and corpulent, and going to the sideboard, grasped one of the decanters there with his big, shaking old hand, where the blue veins stood out in knots.