That nobleman, hopelessly ill at ease, had given up the pretence of amiability and was now making frantic endeavours to send mute signals across the flowers to his under secretary.
The Montrayner guests seldom linger.

Within half an hour after the ladies left the table Beauregard and Wratislaw were taking leave and hurrying into their greatcoats.
"You are going down to the House," said the elder man, "and I'll come too.

I want to have some talk with you.

I tried to catch your eye at dinner to get you to come round and deliver me from old Montrayner, for I had to sit on his right hand and couldn't come round to you.
Heigho-ho! I wish I was a Trappist." The cab had turned out of Piccadilly into St.James's Street before either man spoke again.

The tossing lights of a windy autumn evening were shimmering on the wet pavement, and faces looked spectral white in the morris-dance of shine and shadow.