"There are men," he said, "whom you can never reach, genial men with a ready smile and a prompt cheque-book, whose selfishness is an armour more potent than the armour of my forefather there, Sir Ronald Kingston of Arranmore. And, after all, why not? The thoroughly selfish man is the only person logically who has the slightest chance of happiness."
"It is true," Molyneux murmured. "Delightfully true."
"Lord Arranmore is always either cynical or paradoxical," Sybil Caroom declared. "He really says the most unpleasant things with the greatest appearance of truth of any man I know."
"This company," Lord Arranmore remarked lightly, "is hostile to me. Let us go and play pool."
Lady Caroom rose up promptly. Molyneux groaned audibly.
"You shall play me at billiards instead," she declared. "I used to give you a good game once, and I have played a great deal lately. Ring for Annette, will you, Sybil? She has my cue."
Sybil Caroom made room for Brooks by her side.
"Do sit down and tell me more about the election," she said. "Sydney is sure to go to sleep. He always does after shooting."
"You shall ask me questions," he suggested. "I scarcely know what part of it would interest you."
They talked together lightly at first, then more seriously. From the other end of the hall came the occasional click of billiard balls. Lady Caroom and her host were playing a leisurely game interspersed with conversation.