The putative purpose of the unscheduled congregation was to witness the new Rolls Royce about which so much had been shared. With uncommon fortuity we all rallied within 1½ hours of the initial proposal. This and the agreeable weather made for an ideal diversion in what had begun for us at least as a day devoted strictly to business. Considering the exorbitant ambient temperature it arguably made sense to refrain from the constitutional bicycle ride, a delinquency made all the more persuasive after the protein chow and mounting urge for an afternoon nap.
We wisely chose to dine indoors at the clubhouse rather than retreat to the patio (though we did so afterwards for coffee - the gathering wind made it quite tolerable). The table and bar staff had responded generously to our impromptu outing - as we later did to their efforts. Our spirited luncheon conversation may have at times caused some to turn their heads enquiringly but for the most part we managed to maintain our decorum without lapsing hopelessly into our private vernacular. My guess is that our metropolitan guest hadn't the foresight, breeding or training to recognize the slightly evangelistic strain of the rural country club. As I understand it, his demeanour and native abandon were characteristic of his gusto and audibility. Whatever damage may have been done was in any event irrevocable and no doubt stigmatized by my parochial habit. It didn't help contain my dismay that I occasionally recalled anecdotal accounts of prior social disasters. Such is the penalty attaching to any unique consortium notwithstanding the outward form of propriety.