His arrival created at first
almost a sensation, a slight feeling of constraint even, amongst the
little gathering of men drinking their aperitifs in the lounge under the
stairs. Somehow or other, there was a feeling that many of the old ties
had been broken. Tallente stood for new and menacing things in
politics. He had to a certain extent cut himself adrift from the world
which starts at Eton and Oxford and ends by making mild puns on the
judicial bench, or uttering sonorous platitudes from a properly
accredited seat in the House.
Tallente, fully appreciating the atmosphere, nevertheless made strenuous
and not unsuccessful efforts to pick up the old threads. He abandoned
even the moderation of his daily life. He drank cocktails, champagne
and port, laughed heartily at the stories of the day and ransacked his
brain to cap them. Of bridge, unfortunately, he knew nothing, but he
played pool with some success, and left the club late, leaving behind
him curiously mingled opinions as to the cause for this sudden return to
his old haunts.
He himself walked through the streets, on his way homeward, conscious of
at least partial success, feeling the pleasurable warmth of the wine he
had drunk and the companionship for which he had so strenuously sought.
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