Sir Timothy’s port was very old and remarkably good. Mr. Courtney had tasted it once or twice before the days when summer time was thought of. No doubt, Sir Archibald would appreciate the port. He might afterwards take an optimistic view of life, and feel well disposed towards Mr. Courtney. The invitation was accepted. Sir Archibald and Mr. Courtney dressed for dinner, as gentlemen belonging to the high official classes in Ireland should and do. They put on shirts with stiff fronts and cuffs. With painful efforts they drove studs through tightly sealed buttonholes. They fastened white ties round their collars. They encased their stomachs in stiff white waistcoats. They struggled into silk-lined, silk-faced, long-tailed coats. They wrapped their necks in white silk scarves. They even put high silk hats on their heads. Their overcoats were becomingly open, for the day was warm. They took their seats in the motor. Every policeman in the village saluted them as they passed. They sped up the long, tree-lined avenue which led to Sir Timothy’s house. They reached the lofty doorway, over which crouched lions upheld a shield, bearing a coat of arms. On the lawn opposite the door Sir Timothy, his two daughters and a young man whom Mr. Courtney recognized as the police inspector, were playing tennis. It was a bright and agreeable scene. The sun shone pleasantly. Sir Timothy and the police inspector were in white flannels. The girls wore pretty cotton frocks. Sir Archibald looked at Mr. Courtney. “We’ve come the wrong day,” he said, “or the wrong hour, or something.” “It _is_ Tuesday,” said Mr. Courtney, “and he certainly said 7.30.” “It’s infernally awkward,” said Sir Archibald, glancing at his clothes. Sir Timothy crossed the lawn, swinging his tennis racket and smiling. “Delighted to see you,” he said. “I’d have asked you to come up for a game of tennis if I’d thought you’d have cared for it. Had an idea you’d be busy all day, and would rather dress at your own place. Hullo, you are dressed! A bit early, isn’t it? But I’m delighted to see you.” Sir Archibald stepped slowly from the car. Men who undertake the task of governing Ireland must expect to find themselves looking like fools occasionally. But it is doubtful whether any turn of the political or administrative machine can make a man look as foolish as he feels when, elaborately dressed in evening clothes, he is suddenly set down on a sunny lawn in the middle of a group of people suitably attired for tennis. Sir Archibald, puzzled and annoyed, turned to Mr. Courtney with a frown. “He said half-past seven,” said Mr. Courtney. “I’m delighted to see you now or at any time, but, as a matter of fact, it’s only half-past five,” said Sir Timothy. Sir Archibald looked at his watch. “It’s--surely my watch can’t have gained two hours?” “It’s half-past seven,” said Mr. Courtney, firmly. “Oh, no it isn’t,” said Sir Timothy. “I don’t dine by Act of Parliament.” Sir Archibald frowned angrily.