As Lady Maitland’s car drove away from Euston, Carstairs set himself to divide the luggage and find seats for the rest of the party. His wife was sent with Madame Pinto, Amy Loring with Barbara; he himself arranged to share a taxi with Deganway to the Foreign Office.
“What are you going to do, Gaymer?,” he asked.
“I’m going to have a drink,” was the answer.
“We can drop you in Buckingham Gate,” suggested Mrs. O’Rane.
Gaymer sat moodily on his suit-case, beating his cane against the side of his leg.
“Do I want to go there?,” he yawned. “Well, I suppose it’s as good a place as any... I’ll drop you first and take the car on.”
As they headed for Westminster, Mrs. O’Rane reviewed the house-party with a critical eye, while Gaymer stared out of window and her husband assembled and sorted such impressions as had come to him from words which were intended to cover feelings and from voices which broke through the disguise of words. The men and women who talked to him still made play with gestures and expressions which he could not see; they forgot to keep their voices mechanical; and, even without Amy’s warning that they must be prepared for storms, he could have deduced a state of tension from half-heard changes of tone, from hesitations and accelerations, from shrill notes of self-betrayal and unctuous rolls of insincerity.
“We must make Bobbie Pentyre take a little more trouble before we go to Croxton again,” cried Mrs. O’Rane. “His parties are such a hideous jumble. That appalling Pinto woman! I won thirty-five pounds from her at poker, but I’d pay twice that not to meet her again. And fancy asking Babs and Eric Lane at the same time!”
“I think that’s all over, Sonia,” said her husband.
A murmur of lowered voices had reached him the first night at dinner; and, though he could not hear the words, he guessed from Barbara’s tone that she was testing her strength and that Eric was holding himself detached. It was safe to assume that there had been a scene of some kind, for on later days, when they spoke at all, Eric’s voice was apprehensively frigid and Barbara’s unnaturally composed. No one else seemed to have noticed anything, and any gossip centred round Eric and Ivy. O’Rane suspected antagonism here between Gaymer and Eric; however they spoke when they were alone, there was a frozen politeness of voice when any one else was present. Gaymer, presumably was in love, for his tone wakened to warmth when he talked to Ivy; and, presumably, his suit was not prospering, for, when they returned from the river, he had hardly spoken at all.