“Silly stuff, that,” he said quite seriously, “to put a fellow off his game.” And turning to Lady Joyliffe: “Punch a bit brackish lately. What?”
“Cyril, you’re insular,” from Lady Heathcote.
“No, insulated,” said Doris with a flash of the eyes.
Rizzio laughed. “Highly potential but—er—not dangerous. Why should he be? He’s your typical Briton—sport-loving, calm and nerveless in the most exacting situations—I was at Lords, you know, when Hammersley made that winning run for Marylebone—two minutes to play. Every bowler they put up——”
“It’s hardly a time for bats,” put in Kipshaven dryly. “What we need is fast bowlers—with rifles.”
The object of these remarks sat serenely, smiling blandly around the table, but made no reply. In the pause that followed Sandys was heard in a half whisper to Byfield.
“What’s this I hear of a leak at the War Office?”
Captain Byfield glanced down the table. “Have you heard that?”
“Yes. At the club.”
Captain Byfield touched the rim of his glass to his lips.