Light and even frivolous conversation seemed to be expected from everyone. Carstairs and Mrs Bradley incurred a good deal of chaff from the two young men on the lengthy and boring game they had invented. Dorothy was cross-questioned as to her share in the proceedings, but no one seemed to care about interrogating Alastair Bing, who alone appeared unable to throw off his heavy mood and join in the pleasant badinage. ‘Did they put you through it, Dorothy?’ inquired Garde solicitously. ‘Rather,’ replied Dorothy, smiling demurely at Mrs Bradley. ‘It was awful. I shouldn’t take your turn if I were you. All one’s purple past is dragged out into the light of day.’ ‘We’ll send Eleanor in next,’ chuckled Eleanor’s brother. ‘What about it, old bean?’ ‘I do wish, Garde,’ said Eleanor primly, ‘that you would not address me in that ridiculous way. As to playing this rather childish game, I have no objection at all, but I do think that so soon after Mr Mountjoy’s death, I should not be expected to seem too light-hearted, although I have no wish to deprive others of their simple pleasures.’ Garde, turning his eyes heavenwards and then winking wickedly at Dorothy, attacked his food with a healthily boyish appetite.
