"No, not specially," he replied, "but that accident gave me a nasty
shock."
"You should go off for a change," I said.
"I almost think I will," was the answer. "I had not meant to leave
town till just before the Twelth but I think I had better get away to
Marienbad for a fortnight. There is nothing doing in the House, and
work at the Office is at a standstill. Yes, I fancy I'll go abroad
before the end of the week."
I caught the Prime Minister's eye and saw that he had forgotten the
purpose of the dinner, being dimly conscious that that purpose was now
idle. Cargill and Vennard had ceased to talk like rebels. The Home
Secretary had subsided into his old, suave, phrasing self. The humour
had gone out of his eye, and the looseness had returned to his lips.
He was an older and more commonplace man, but harmless, quite harmless.
Vennard, too, wore a new air, or rather had recaptured his old one. He
was saying little, but his voice had lost its crispness and recovered
its half-plaintive unction; his shoulders had a droop in them; once
more he bristled with self-consciousness.
We others were still shaky from that detestable curry, and were so
puzzled as to be acutely uncomfortable. Relief would come later, no
doubt; for the present we were uneasy at this weird transformation. I
saw the Prime Minister examining the two faces intently, and the result
seemed to satisfy him. He sighed and looked at Caerlaverock, who
smiled and nodded.
"What about that Bill of yours, Vennard?" he asked. "There have been a
lot of stupid rumours."
"Bill?" Vennard said. "I know of no Bill. Now that my departmental
work is over, I can give my whole soul to Cargill's Small Holdings. Do
you mean that?"
"Yes, of course. There was some confusion in the popular mind, but the
old arrangement holds. You and Cargill will put it through between
you."
They began to talk about those weariful small holdings, and I ceased to
listen. We left the dining-room and drifted to the library, where a
fire tried to dispel the gloom of the weather. There was a feeling of
deadly depression abroad, so that, for all its awkwardness, I would
really have preferred the former Caerlaverock dinner. The Prime
Minister was whispering to his host. I heard him say something about
there being "the devil of a lot of explaining" before him.
Vennard and Cargill came last to the library, arm-in-arm as before.
"I should count it a greater honour," Vennard was saying, "to sweeten
the lot of one toiler in England than to add a million miles to our
territory. While one English household falls below the minimum scale
of civic wellbeing, all talk of Empire is sin and folly." "Excellent!"
said Mr. Cargill. Then I knew for certain that at last peace had
descended upon the vexed tents of Israel.