he seemed struck dumb on learning who I was and gaped at me and asked a lot of solemn and quite idiotic questions about how I thought of things and whether I enjoyed writing and whether I dictated my plays to a secretary. Is it a pose, by the way? I didnât think it was, but I was a bit taken aback.â
âNo, it isnât,â said Nigel definitely. âHeâs always had a sort of naïve enthusiasm for the celebrated. Itâs refreshing at first, but it becomes a bore, and one gets so ashamed of him at parties.â
âAnyway, the upshot of it was that I invited him to come along to rehearsals, for which he was quite pathetically grateful. However towards the end of our conversation he began to shuffle his feet and fidget about and look at his watch, so I politely took my leave, and he rushed away with tremendous strides saying âOh dear, oh dear, I shall be too late!â like the White Rabbit in
Alice
, knocking over a pile of pamphlets on Russia, and absentmindedly taking with him the book heâd been looking at. Obviously he couldnât make out where it had come from, because later I saw him take it into Parkerâs and exchange it for a detective novel.â
Nigel emitted a sound which can only be described as an explosive snort. When he had recovered he said:
âIâm going in to see him after dinner tonight. Would you like to come?â
âThanks, but it really canât be managed. Iâm going on Friday, when Iâve got this play off my mind a bit.â
At this point there suddenly appeared at the table the young Artillery captain to whom Yseut had spoken in the train. He wore a bashful smile. Nigel had seen him at an adjacent table, his attention torn between the conclusion of
No Orchids for Miss Blandish
and the charms of Rachel, which had obviously smitten him severely.
âExcuse my butting in,â he said, addressing himself chiefly to Yseut, âbut we met in the train, and I was getting awfully bored sitting there all on me lone-e-o. You see, I donât know anyone in Oxford yet,â he added apologetically.
A confused clamour of invitation arose.
âI say, thanks awfully,â he said. âDo let me get you all another drink.â And he rushed away and returned with his arms full of glasses, spilling the greater part of their contents on the floor. In the meantime Donald Fellowes rose abruptly and left without a word.
âAll comes from practice,â said the Captain proudly, depositing the drinks in an unsteady manner on the table and sitting down with a bump. âMy nameâs Peter Graham,â he added. âCaptain Peter Graham, His Majestyâs Royal Artillery, at your service.â He grinned at each of them in turn.
Rachel took charge of the introductions, and the conversation drifted into indifferent channels. Rachel, after a brief wink at Robert, resigned herself to the respectful attentions of Peter Graham, who was inquiring hopefully whether the reputation of actresses for immorality was justified. Robert was thrown back on Yseut again, while Nigel and Nicholas discussed their undergraduate days and found acquaintances in common. Eventually Peter Graham surged to his feet.
âI say,â he said, âI wonder if youâd all like to come to a party in my rooms here on Wednesday night? After the bars have closed, of course. And bring lots of people. I think the hotel will let me have plenty to drink, so you neednât bring bottles.
âIn the meantime,â he added, after they had all murmured expressions of delighted acquiescence, âRachel â I mean MissWest and I are going to have dinner together, so I hope youâll excuse us.â (Here Robert shot a desperate glance at Rachel, who mischievously refused to notice it.) âSo long,â said Peter Graham cheerfully. âI expect I shall see you all about,â he added, feeling that perhaps some justification was