Maria could only bob, overwhelmed with embarrassment in this glittering presence.

“Enchanted to make your acquaintance, Sir William,” said Mrs Mason.

And the parson and his wife, and the few neighbours of Mrs Mason’s who were the only other guests, were enormously gratified at being in the same room as—let alone being personally addressed by—the son of an Earl, a Knight of the Bath, and a Commander-in-chief combined in one person.

“A glass of wine, sir?” asked Hornblower.

“With pleasure.”

Cornwallis took the glass in his hand and looked round: It was significant that it was Mrs Mason whom he addressed.

“Has the health of the happy couple been drunk yet?”

“No, sir,” answered Mrs Mason, in a perfect ecstasy.

“Then may I do so? Ladies, gentlemen. I ask you all to stand and join me on this happy occasion. May they never know sorrow. May they always enjoy health and prosperity. May the wife always find comfort in the knowledge that the husband is doing his duty for King and Country, and may the husband be supported in his duty by the loyalty of the wife. And let us hope that in time to come there will be a whole string of young gentlemen who will wear the King’s uniform after their father’s example, and a whole string of young ladies to be mothers of further young gentlemen. I give you the health of the bride and groom.”

The health was drunk amid acclamation, with all eyes turned on the blushing Maria, and then from her all eyes turned on Hornblower. He rose; he had realized, before Cornwallis had reached the midpoint of his speech, that the Admiral was using words he had used scores of times before, at scores of weddings of his officers. Hornblower, keyed up on the occasion, met Cornwallis’s eyes and grinned. He would give as good as he got; he would reply with a speech exactly similar to the scores that Cornwallis had listened to.