Patches of silence ran between them: they hadn't yet got out of the habit of thinking they had to hold up the drunken brother. That had seemed to last for a thousand painful months. . . . Long enough to acquire a habit. The brother seemed to roar: "Haw—Haw—Kuryasch. . . ." And after two minutes: "Haw—Haw—Kuryasch. . . ." Hungarian, no doubt!
He said:
"It was splendid to see Vincent standing beside the Duke. Showing him a first edition! Not of course quite the thing for a, after all, wedding party! But how was Rugeley to know that? . . . And Vincent not in the least servile! He even corrected cousin Rugeley over the meaning of the word colophon! The first time he ever corrected a superior! . . . Established, you see! . . . And practically cousin Rugeley. . . . Dear Sylvia Tietjens' cousin, so the next to nearest thing! Wife of Lady Macmaster's oldest friend. . . . Sylvia going to them in their—quite modest!—little place in Surrey. . . . As for us," he had concluded "they also serve who only stand and wait. . . ."
She said:
"I suppose the rooms looked lovely."
He had answered:
"Lovely. . . . They'd got all the pictures by that beastly fellow up from the rectory study in the dining-room on dark oak panelling. . . . A fair blaze of bosoms and nipples and lips and pomegranates. . . The tallest silver candlesticks of course. . . . You remember, silver candlesticks and dark oak. . . ."
She said:
"Oh, my dear . . . Don't . . . Don't!"
He had just touched the rim of his helmet with his folded gloves.