The delicious cold contents of that tumbler disappeared rapidly, and the tumbler was as rapidly refilled. He checked himself abruptly when he found himself talking a little too loudly and dogmatically regarding some point of trivial importance. He was glad to catch Gerard’s eye and withdraw as gracefully as he could; he was also glad that Gerard seemed perfectly cool and sober and had charge of the cardcase, dropping the necessary number of cards into the silver trays that the coloured butlers held out to receive them. By the time he reached Sharpe’s house he was glad to see a friendly face—friendly even though it was only that morning that he had first set eyes on it.

“It is an hour before the guests are due to arrive, My Lord,” said Sharpe. “Would Your Lordship care for a short rest?”

“I would indeed,” said Hornblower.

Mr. Sharpe’s house had a contrivance which merited much attention. It was a douche bath—Hornblower only knew the French name for it. It was in a corner of the bathroom, floored and walled with the most excellent teak; from the ceiling hung an apparatus of perforated zinc, and from this hung a bronze chain. When Hornblower stood under this apparatus and pulled the chain a deluge of delicious cold water came streaming down on him from some unseen reservoir above. It was as refreshing as ever it had been to stand under the wash-deck pump on the deck of a ship at sea, with the additional advantage of employing fresh water—and in his present condition, after his experiences of the day, it was doubly refreshing. Hornblower stood under the raining water for a long time, reviving with every second. He made a mental note to install a similar contrivance at Smallbridge House if ever he found himself at home again.