That this year has not ended in disaster irretrievable is due to our latest comrade, Lance Courthorne." This time there were no musical honors or need of them, for a shout went up that called forth an answering rattle from the cedar paneling.
It was flung back from table to table up and down the great room, and when the men sat down, flushed and breathless, their eyes still shining, the one they admitted had saved Silverdale rose up quietly at the foot of the table.

The hand he laid on the snowy cloth shook a little, and the bronze that generally suffused it was less noticeable in his face.

All who saw it felt that something unusual was coming, and Maud Barrington leaned forward a trifle, with a curious throbbing of her heart.
"Comrades! It is, I think, the last time you will hear the term from me," he said.

"I am glad that we have made and won a good fight at Silverdale, because it may soften your most warranted resentment when you think of me." Every eye was turned upon him, and an expression of bewilderment crept into the faces, while a lad who sat next to him touched his arm reassuringly.
"You'll feel your feet in a moment, but that's a curious fashion of putting it," he said.
Winston turned to Barrington, and stood silent a moment.

He saw Maud Barrington's face showing strained and intent, but less bewildered than the others, and that of her aunt, which seemed curiously impassive, and a little thrill ran through him.