and handed us cigars. The K.C. remarked on the excellence of the wine,
and Strickland told us where he got it. We began to chat about vintages
and tobacco. The K.C. told us of a case he was engaged in, and the
Colonel talked about polo. I had nothing to say and so sat silent,
trying politely to show interest in the conversation; and because I
thought no one was in the least concerned with me, examined Strickland
at my ease. He was bigger than I expected: I
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wasting on tedious exercises the brief span of his life. It was the kind of party which makes you wonder why the hostess has troubled to bid her guests, and why the guests have troubled to come. There were ten people. They met with indifference, and would part with relief. It was, of course, a purely social function. The Stricklands "owed" dinners to a number
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