“Send round the port, George,” he ordered solemnly. “Round with the sun ... that’s right. The ladies must take a little wine, for the toasts.”
Lydia knew what was coming. She had heard it every year, and the transition from jovial animal enjoyment to sudden solemnity always gave her a slight thrill.
Grandpapa raised his glass, and everybody imitated the gesture.
“The Queen! God bless her.”
The sentiment was devoutly echoed round the table.
Then Uncle George said in a very serious way:
“Our absent friends.”
And the toast was drunk silently, Aunt Beryl raising her handkerchief to her eyes for a moment as she did every year, in whose honour nobody knew.
After that healths were proposed and honoured indiscriminately. Mr. Monteagle Almond ceremoniously toasted Aunt Beryl, and Bob, looking very sentimental, insisted upon knocking the rim of his glass several times against the rim of Lydia’s. Uncle George, noncommittally confining himself to generalities, proposed “The Fair Sex,” and Grandpapa effectually prevented anyone from rising to reply by sarcastically inquiring which of the ladies present would act as representative for them all.
The room grew steadily hotter.