Cornwallis suddenly withheld his proffered hand.

“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “I was forgetting. This is your wedding day.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You were only married this morning?”

“An hour ago, sir.”

“And I’ve taken you away from your wedding breakfast.”

“Yes, sir.” It would be cheap rhetoric to add anything trite like ‘For King and Country,’ or even ‘Duty comes first.’

“Your good lady will hardly be pleased.”

Nor would his mother-in-law, more especially, thought Hornblower, but again it would not be tactful to say so.

“I’ll try to make amends, sir,” he contented himself with saying.

“It’s I who should make amends,” replied Cornwallis. “Perhaps I could join the festivities and drink the bride’s health?”

“That would be most kind of you, sir,” said Hornblower.

If anything could reconcile Mrs Mason to his breach of manners, it would be the presence of Admiral the Hon. Sir William Cornwallis, K.B., at the breakfast table.

“I’ll come, then, if you’re certain I shan’t be unwelcome. Hachett, find my sword. Where’s my hat?”

So that when Hornblower appeared again through the door of the coffee-room Mrs Mason’s instant and bitter reproaches died away on her lips, the moment she saw that Hornblower was ushering in an important guest. She saw the glittering epaulettes, and the red ribbon and the star which Cornwallis had most tactfully put on in honour of the occasion. Hornblower made the introductions.

“Long life and much happiness,” said Cornwallis, bowing over Maria’s hand, “to the wife of one of the most promising officers in the King’s service.”