“Very kind of you to come, Mr. Vaughan,” said the Sergeant, who, like many browbeaters, could be a sycophant at need. “Very kind indeed! I don’t know whether you know Mr. Cooke? He, equally with me, is obliged to you for your attendance.”
“Greatly obliged, sir,” Mr. Cooke muttered. “Certainly, certainly.”
Vaughan bowed coldly.
“Is not Sir Robert here?” he asked.
He was still looking beyond those to whom he spoke.
“No, Mr. Vaughan.”
And then, “This way to dinner,” White cried loudly. “Come, gentlemen! Dinner, gentlemen, dinner!”
And Vaughan, heedless what he did or where he dined, but inclined in a sardonic way to amuse himself, went in with them. What did it matter? He was not going to vote for them. But that was his business, and Sir Robert’s. He was not responsible to them.
Certainly he was in a very bad temper.