He stood at the sideboard in a white waistcoat with large gold and onyx
buttons, watching his valet screw the necks of three champagne bottles
deeper into ice-pails. Between the points of his stand-up collar,
which--though it hurt him to move--he would on no account have had
altered, the pale flesh of his under chin remained immovable. His eyes
roved from bottle to bottle. He was debating, and he argued like this:
Jolyon drinks a glass, perhaps two, he's so careful of himself. James,
he can't take his wine nowadays. Nicholas--Fanny and he would
swill water he shouldn't wonder! Soames didn't count; these young
nephews--Soames was thirty-one--couldn't drink! But Bosinney?
Encountering in the name of this stranger something outside the range
of his philosophy, Swithin paused. A misgiving arose within him! It
was impossible to tell! June was only a girl, in love too! Emily (Mrs.
James) liked a good glass of champagne. It was too dry for Juley, poor
old soul, she had no palate. As to Hatty Chessman! The thought of this
old friend caused a cloud of thought to obscure the perfect glassiness
of his eyes: He shouldn't wonder if she drank half a bottle!
But in thinking of his remaining guest, an expression like that of a
cat who is just going to purr stole over his old face: Mrs.
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