Dinner always lasted a long time, because Sir Richard enjoyed his food and had got a theory about biting each mouthful to which he entirely attributed his healthy old age; it entailed lengthy meals.
They were almost the last people in the room when at length they rose to go, and it was growing late.
“It’s so sensible of them not to pull blinds down,” said Tony, “the moon helps digestion.” Sir Richard, as was his custom, went slowly and majestically up to his room, the others into the garden.
“Take Alice to see the view from the terraces, Rupert,” said Lady Gale. “Tony and I will walk about here a little.”
She put her arm through her son’s, and they passed up and down the walks in front of the hotel. The vision of the town in the distance was black, the gardens were cold and white under the moon.
“Oh! it is beautiful.” Lady Gale drew a deep breath. “And when I’m in a place like this, and it’s England, I’m perpetually wondering why so many people hurry away abroad somewhere as soon as they’ve a minute to spare. Why, there’s nothing as lovely as this anywhere!”
Tony laughed. “There’s magic in it,” he said. “I hadn’t set foot in the place for quarter of an hour before I knew that it was quite different from all the other places I’d ever been in. I wasn’t joking just now at dinner. I meant it quite seriously. I feel as if I were just in for some enormous adventure—as if something important were most certainly going to happen.”
“Something important’s always happening, especially at your time of life; which reminds me, Tony dear, that I want to talk to you seriously.”
He looked up in her face. “What’s up, mother?”
“Nothing’s up, and perhaps you will think me a silly interfering old woman; but you know mothers are queer things, Tony, and you can’t say that I’ve bothered you very much in days past.”