Aylmer was pale.
* * * * * The supper was an absolute and complete failure; the guests displayed the forced gaiety and real depression, and constrained absentmindedness, of genuine and hopeless boredom.

Except for Lady Everard's ceaseless flow of empty prattle the pauses would have been too obvious.

Edith, for whom it was a dreary anti-climax, was rather silent.

Aylmer talked more, and a little more loudly, than usual, and looked worn.

Bruce, whom champagne quickly saddened, became vaguely reminiscent and communicative about old, dead, forgotten grievances of the past, while Vincy, who was a little shocked at what he saw (and he always saw everything), did his very best, just saving the entertainment from being a too disastrous frost.
'Well! Good luck!' said Aylmer, lifting his glass with sham conviviality.' I start tomorrow morning by the Orient Express.' 'Hooray!' whispered Vincy primly.
'Doesn't it sound romantic and exciting ?' Edith said.