CRAMPTON (grimly). I daresay. A man does change in eighteen years.

MRS. CLANDON (troubled). I--I did not mean that. I hope your health
is good.

CRAMPTON. Thank you. No: it's not my health. It's my happiness:
that's the change you meant, I think. (Breaking out suddenly.) Look at
her, McComas! Look at her; and look at me! (He utters a half laugh,
half sob.)

PHILIP. Sh! (Pointing to the hotel entrance, where the waiter has
just appeared.) Order before William!

DOLLY (touching Crampton's arm warningly with her finger).
Ahem! (The waiter goes to the service table and beckons to the kitchen
entrance, whence issue a young waiter with soup plates, and a cook, in
white apron and cap, with the soup tureen. The young waiter remains and
serves: the cook goes out, and reappears from time to time bringing in
the courses. He carves, but does not serve. The waiter comes to the
end of the luncheon table next the steps.)

MRS. CLANDON (as they all assemble about the table). I think you
have all met one another already to-day. Oh, no, excuse me.
(Introducing) Mr. Valentine: Mr. McComas. (She goes to the end of the
table nearest the hotel.) Fergus: will you take the head of the table,
please.

CRAMPTON. Ha! (Bitterly.) The head of the table!