for awhile at the beginning, from the holy gospels in devout households,
or from some other grave book. But if there were neither music nor
reading, all would hold their tongues.

Robin was hungry from his riding and the keen air; and he ate well.
First he stayed his appetite a little with a hunch of cheat-bread, and a
glass of pomage, while the servant was bringing him his entry of eggs
cooked with parsley. Then he ate this; and next came half a wild-duck
cooked with sage and sweet potatoes; and last of all a florentine which
he ate with a cup of Canarian. He ate heartily and quickly, while the
two waited for him and nibbled at marchpane. Then, when the doors were
flung open and the troop of servants came in to their supper, Mr. Audrey
blessed himself, and for them, too; and they went out by a door behind
into the wainscoted parlour, where the new stove from London stood, and
where the conserves and muscadel awaited them. For this, or like it, had
been the procedure in Matstead hall ever since Robin could remember,
when first he had come from the women to eat his food with the men.

"And how were all at Booth's Edge?" asked Mr. Audrey, when all had
pulled off their boots in country fashion, and were sitting each with
his glass beside him. (Through the door behind came the clamour of the
farm-men and the keepers of the chase and the servants, over their
food.)

"I saw Marjorie only, sir," said the boy. "Mr. Manners was in Derby, and
Mrs. Manners had a megrim."

"Mrs. Manners is ageing swifter than her husband," observed Anthony.

There seemed a constraint upon the company this evening. Robin spoke of