Explore "Mr. Marx's Secret" by E. Phillips Oppenheim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was a few minutes past nine when I descended into the long, oaken gallery where breakfast was served, and at the head of the principal table sat Mr. Ravenor in hunting costume. Everyone who was down was evidently bound for the meet. The men were nearly all in scarlet coats, and the women in riding-habits and trim little hats, with their veils pushed back. There was a great clatter of knives and forks, and a good deal of carving going on at the long, polished sideboard, and above it all, a loud hum of cheerful talk; altogether it was a very pleasant meal that was in progress.
I was making my way towards a gap in the table at the lower end when I heard my name called, and looked down into Miss Hamilton's piquant, upturned face.