AGNES, eating grapes, thought of the irrelevancy of visible life.
 Dinner had gone without a hitch. Food, wines and conversation were suave and reassuring. Marie-Rose, looking lovely, had been deftly complementary to her sister in the tasks of hospitality. The six men, each in character, had talked as if with pleasure - even Reggie doing his part, even her father bracing himself superstitiously to make Dr. Coyle enjoy his evening, as though such enjoyment might influence to-morrow’s fate.
 It was a grim dinner-party, Agnes thought - and quite a pleasant one.
 For none so pleasant as for Sir Godfrey Bartlett-Crowe. When his friend Coyle, whom he had known as long ago as in Vienna, had asked him to make this journey into the dark interior of Ireland, he had been, to put it mildly, astonished. Dublin, though in many ways a deplorable and dangerous place, was at least a capital, and had, if one knew where to look for them, some of the airs and amenities of a capital. It had lurking wealth, too, and a few good cellars. This was not the first time Sir Godfrey had condescended to travel his eminent opinion as far as Dublin. And, of [201] course, were he asked to attend at any of the great historic houses scattered about the district called The Pale, he would not hesitate to pursue his guineas even there. But to plunge right into the murderous and stormy south, to stay in the home of a real Irishman, a Catholic, to attend the wife of a small-town merchant, and waste twenty-four hours, and perhaps encounter danger in so doing - that at first blush had seemed an absurd suggestion.
 But Coyle was truly anxious about this case, and Sir Godfrey was, even if he himself was acutely aware of it, a very gifted and conscientious doctor. Further, his engagement book was by chance quite empty of important events for the next few days, and, after all, the thing with its disadvantages would be an adventure.
 The carriage and pair outside Mellick station had been the first reassurance to his timidity. The spaciousness and warmth of Roseholm was an even better surprise. Certainly his host was quite as vulgar-looking as he had expected, but amusingly mild. There had been a brief impression of a slim girl with dark hair, a welcoming murmur in a very feminine and gracious voice - and: “This is my daughter,” the fat little man had said. “Impossible,” Sir Godfrey had almost answered, but “my son,” a too easily diagnosed wreck of a man, had borne him off at that moment with Coyle to have a drink. He had not liked, until Coyle, who obviously knew the fellow and his history, had done so, to take a drink from those puffy hands. But [202] this one unpleasant impression had been shrugged off in the comfort of his bedroom, where a great fire, a mighty bed and the hospitable and deferential fussings in and out with hot water of a venerable housemaid had most consolingly adjusted his notions of native Irish life.
Descending then to the drawing-room, Sir Godfrey was at his most urbane, though still on the look-out for indigenous drolleries. He advanced in is very best manner towards the graceful young creature who was his hostess, and she, bewildering enough in her beauty, presented him at once to a lovely blonde flower at her side, her sister, Mrs. de Courcy O’Regan.
 Sir Godfrey was a connoisseur of women up and down the social scale, but he had never met a colleen. Amusedly in the train he had wondered about the species. Shy and wild, no doubt - perhaps even barefoot - and in need of masterly coaxing. He had an idea his technique would serve. Perhaps a little teasing - a playful reproduction of their quaint brogue
 These ladies were not shy and wild, and though they had a brogue, Sir Godfrey felt that its movements were too subtle for immediate imitation. In any case - that obviously would not be in the way to please, or to be understood. He bowed in rather excited courtesy over Marie-Rose’s beautiful and mondaine hand.
 The rest of the party was presented to him, the local doctor, to whom he condescended pleasantly, and then the husband of the lovely blonde, who strode belatedly [203] into the room. An odd young man, Sir Godfre thought. When their two names were murmured by Mr. Mulqueen, he had stared for qite a second out of cold blue eyes which, the doctor knew, were absolutely inattentive to what they focused. A remarkable and insolent face, very white, very aristocratically boned. A face made into a mask by sensitiveness; perhaps the face of someone a little mad. And this was the husband of that exquisite blonde lady! Sir Godfrey glanced towards here, wondering somewhat, both as man and doctor.
 He began to percieve that, contrary to his expectations, he would need skill if he was to get the true essence of this company in which he found himself - and that even then it very likely would elude him. Surprising! In this painfully old-fashioned drawing-room, and among people who did not dress - that is to say, really dress for dinner! He had been irritated when Coyle told him not to. He hated dining without the ritualistic exposure of a stached white breast-plate. But, indeed, the black suitings and white linen of all these men were perfectly presentable, and the ladies, though, of course, their décolletages were not ceremonial, were exquisite in silks and jewels. Though the tall one - he looked again - was not in silk, but in velvet, black velvet as smooth and undulating as the sea on a dark, calm night. Sir Godfrey smiled. And the little one, in her chic white frills, a dress of frills, it semed, as perhaps the foam, suddenly gleaming [204] on the edge of that sea. he laughed and moved towards sea and foam. So this was Ireland! Surprise was still naively in his face, and still there was a nervous desire to make a joke of the surprise, and yet again the uneasy feeling that he had better not do that. [205]
 In the dining-room he sat at the right hand of his hostess, with the little white-frilled blonde, the foam of the sea, on his own right. Very much pleased at his position, he smiled at Coyle, diagonally opposite him, at the right side of their chubby little host. The table appointments were good, he noted, the parlour-maid immaculate, the ladies young and glorious; he certainly ran an excellent chance of enjoying dinner. He sipped his sherry, tasted his soup - then almost wriggled in his chair for satisfaction.
 Vincent, sitting directly opposite, smiled at the granger. And how very blue his eyes are, Sir Godfrey thought. As if made of ice.
 “You look like a wise man,” Vincent said.
[...]