Mr. Satterthwaite was sixty-two years old – a hunchbacked, dried-up man, with a curious, strange face that resembled an elf, and a passionate, unruly interest in the lives of others. Throughout his life, in a way, he had sat in the front row of the square, watching the various dramas of human nature unfold before him. His role had always been that of an observer. Only now, with old age gripping him, he felt a critical attitude surprising him towards the theater that others presented to him. Now he demanded something different, an unusual idea. Undoubtedly, he was a gifted interpreter of these situations. He instinctively knew when the elements of drama were at hand. From the moment he arrived in Royston in the afternoon, this strange intuition unsettled him, commanding him to be on alert. Something interesting was happening or was about to happen.
The gathering was not large. Present were Tom Ivesam, their sweet-talking, good-natured host, and his sullen, politicized wife – Lady Laura Keen, as she was called before her marriage. Sir Richard Conway, a military man, traveler, and athlete, and six or seven young people, whose names Mr. Satterthwaite had not caught, and then the Portals. The Portals were the object of Mr. Satterthwaite’s interest. He had never met Alex Portal, but he knew everything about him. He had personally known his father and grandfather. Alex Portal was the expected offspring of his ancestors. A man close to forty, blond and blue-eyed, like all the Portals, athletic, strong in sports, without a trace of imagination.