He overwhelmed Lord John, whom he liked but scorned. "Never takes any decent exercise, John Beaminster. Always about with a parcel of women." Finally he departed, carrying with him a faint scent of soap and tobacco, swearing that it was the closest night he'd ever known and wiping his red forehead with the air of one who rules this country and is going very shortly to enjoy an excellent meal.
Soon Uncle John also departed.
Roddy, alone with Rachel, faintly smiled and then closed his eyes again.
"Better go and dress, dear. It's gone half-past six."
"What on earth did he stay all that time for, roaring like a bull?" she cried indignantly. "Tired you out. Roddy, dear, I don't think I'll go out to dinner. I'll send a wire to Lady Carloes."
"No, you must," he said firmly. "It's too late to disappoint her."
"It's such an appalling night. I'm not feeling awfully well. I don't think I could stand one of her dinners. There'll be old Lord Crewner, old Mrs. Brunning and young somebody or other for me, and I believe Uncle Richard. I simply couldn't stand it."
"Aren't you well?" He looked up at her sharply.
"Not very." Their eyes met; she turned hers away. She was desperately near to tears, near to flinging herself down at his side and hiding her head and telling him all. "Wait—wait—perhaps he knows nothing ..."
Still looking away from him she said, "Oh yes! I must go, of course. It's only this thunder that one feels."