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Updated: June 13, 2025
The dinner-gong began to sound, and as though attracted by its long monotonous beating, a swallow flew in at one of the narrow windows and fluttered round the room. Mrs. Pendyce's eyes followed its flight. The Squire stepped forward suddenly and took her hand. "Don't run away from me again, Margery!" he said; and stooping down, he kissed it. At this action, so unlike her husband, Mrs.
Rochester opened the door, and led the way out into the hall without a word. "Really, Henry," Lady Mary Rochester said to her husband, a few minutes before the dinner-gong sounded, "for once you have been positively useful. A new young man is such a godsend, and Charlie Peyton threw us over most abominably. So mean of him, too, after the number of times I had him to dine in Grosvenor Square."
While Nora and her father were talking together there came a sound of a ponderous gong through the house. "What's that?" said Nora, starting. "You may well ask 'What's that?" replied the Squire. "It's the dinner-gong. There's dinner now in the evening, bedad! and up to seven courses, by the same token. I sat out one or two of them; but, bless my soul!
Behind him he left his dish of tea, and the pet pork that made the veins of his forehead swell with ecstasy. But to-day the dinner-gong resounds where Rob Boy's bugle blared, and you may sit behind your serviette Where the sun his beacon red Kindles on Ben Voirlich's head, or where the monument of a Gaelic poet broods above the heather. The tyranny of the table-d'hote ceases not even at sea.
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