There was an occasional boisterous interlude by Jeremy, but even he with his tales of unknown Arabia couldn't lift the load of depression.

Grim and I sat silent through the meal.

I experienced the sensation that you get when an expedition proves a failure and you've got to go home again with nothing done--all dreary emptiness; but Grim was hatching something, as you could tell by the far-away expression and the glowering light in his eyes.

He looked about ready for murder.
Narayan Singh's face all through the meal was a picture--delight and pride at dining with a king, amazement at his karma that had brought a sepoy of the line to hear such confidences first hand, chagrin over Grim's apparent failure and desire to be inconspicuous controlled his expression in turn.

Once or twice he tried to make conversation with me, but I was in no mood for it, being a grouchy old bear on occasion without decent manners.
Feisul excused himself the minute the meal was over, saying he had a conference to attend, and we all went back into the sitting-room, where Grim took the chair he occupied before and marshalled us into a row on the seat in front of him.