"Oh, I don't suppose so," answered Caruth. He felt it to be an inefficient answer and wondered, fingering his tie, what the ideal reply would have been. Would 'Oh, Mrs Foskett!' have been too familiar?
Then it turned out that Caruth had been to Murren for the winter sports. This was one of Mrs Foskett's well-known themes. Her subjects included Greece, Switzerland, Patriotism, Sport, and the Nobility.
"Oh, I think Murren's so lovely," she began. "To be so high up, right above those Wengen people. I love ski-ing. And the sun. And the glorious air. There's nothing like it. And such nice people. Such really charming people. Last winter we met Lord and Lady Dalston. They're so interested in the personal side of Social Service. Lord Dalston has a club in the Mile End Road, and in the evenings he goes and sings there himself—such a beautiful voice. Of course they don't get many people yet because of——"
"The picture palaces," suggested Caruth nobly. He thought it about time that he got a word in and was eager to excuse the scandalous absence of appreciation of Lord Dalston's art.
"Yes, those terrible places. And they do have such sensational films in the East End. I'm sure they have a bad influence. What the people really need is a drill hall with exercises and good music. I've been putting the case to Lady Dalston."
"Rather," said Caruth, who was himself a staunch patron of the pictorial drama. And then he added: "I think National Service would be a good thing for the poor."
He had given Mrs Foskett her cue. She broke out into a triumph song in whose turbulent flow the words 'physique' and 'efficiency' came frequently rolling. She was careful to say that she was not a militantist and hated the thought of war, but she didn't see any harm in teaching people how to shoot one another if need be. "War's so educational," she ended. "Brings out the strength of the nation."
And then there floated from the other end of the table the throaty voice of the Head as he told an antique Jowett story, which had been picked up in his under-graduate days and always did good service when the flame of conversation flickered.
Martin, sitting silently in the middle of the table, concentrated on the supper. It was worth all the attention he gave it. He managed to consume a plate of soup, some fried sole, two sausages and bacon, one helping of trifle and one of fruit salad, and as much dessert and chocolate as came his way. The Fosketts certainly understood the art of feeding.
Afterwards there was a feeble attempt made to play some games, but not even Mrs Foskett could overcome the self-consciousness of her guests. Interest waned and the Head's jokes became worse and worse. They were all relieved when the time came for departure.