Meantime, down below, the men had shifted into chairs to one end of the table and the Heavy Host was shoving cigars at them, thick as ropes, and passing the port wine, with his big fist round the neck of the decanter. But for his success in life he could have had a place as a bar tender anywhere.
None of them spoke till the cigars were well alight.
Then the Host said very deliberately, taking each word at his leisure, with smoke in between:
"Of course—this—suffrage business—"
"Tommyrot!" exclaimed the Smooth Gentleman, with great alacrity, his mask entirely laid aside.
"Damn foolishness," gurgled the Heavy Business Friend, sipping his port.
"Of course you can't really discuss it with women," murmured the Host.
"Oh, no," assented all the others. Even the Half Man sipped his wine and turned traitor, there being no one to see.
"You see," said the Host, "if my wife likes to go to meetings and be on committees, why, I don't stop her."
"Neither do I mine," said the Heavy Friend. "It amuses her, so I let her do it." His wife, the Lady-with-the-Bust, was safely out of hearing.