"Have a whisky-and-soda." "Thanks." Hardiman touched the bell and led the way over to a sofa.
"Lucky man! The doctor's read the Riot Act to me! I met Luttrell in the Mall this morning, on his way back from Buckingham Palace.

He had just been given his D.S.O." Hardiman began to sit down, but the couch was low, and though he began the movement lazily, it went suddenly with a run, so that the springs of the couch jumped and twanged and his feet flew from beneath him.
"Yes, he has done splendidly," said Martin.

"His battalion too.

That's what he cares about." Sir Charles needed a moment or two after he had set down to recover his equipoise.

He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.
"Luttrell told me you were both off to Rackham Park this week for Gatwick." "That's right! But I shan't get down until Friday afternoon," said Hillyard.
The waiter put the glass of whisky-and-soda at his side, and he took a drink from it.
"Perhaps you are going too," he suggested.
Hardiman shook his head.
Hillyard was silent for a minute.