Let us have a look at them as they came down to that breakfast, of which Stevens, the parlour-maid, has already given us a glimpse.
The first to appear was Major Rumbold, a tall, grey-haired, grey-moustached, silent man, wearing a Norfolk coat and grey flannel trousers, who lived on his retired pay and wrote natural history articles for the papers.
He inspected the dishes on the side-table, decided carefully on kedgeree, and got to work on it.
He had passed on to a sausage by the time of the next arrival.
This was Bill Beverly, a cheerful young man in white flannel trousers and a blazer.
"Hallo, Major," he said as he came in, "how's the gout?"
"It isn't gout," said the Major gruffly.
"Well, whatever it is."
The Major grunted.
"I make a point of being polite at breakfast," said Bill, helping himself largely to porridge. "Most people are so rude. That's why I asked you. But don't tell me if it's a secret. Coffee?" he added, as he poured himself out a cup.