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'Begging your pardon, sir. Begging your pardon.'

'Well?'

'The Admiral's compliments, sir, and he would be glad to see you when you find it convenient.'

Hornblower stood sword in hand, staring at him in momentary incomprehension.

'The Admiral, sir. 'E's in the first floor front, what we always calls the Admiral's Room.'

'You mean Sir William, of course?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Very well. My respects to the Admiral and--No, I'll go up at once. Thank you.'

'Thank'ee, sir. Begging your pardon again.'

Hornblower shot his sword back into its sheath and looked round at the company. They were watching the maid bustling round handing slices of wedding cake and had no eyes for him at present. He settled his sword at his side, twitched at his neckcloth, and unobtrusively left the room, picking up his hat as he did so.

When he knocked at the door of the first floor front a deep voice that he well-remembered said, 'Come in.' It was so large a room that the four-poster bed at the far end was inconspicuous; so was the secretary seated at the desk by the window. Cornwallis was standing in the middle, apparently engaged in dictation until this interruption.