om, with a curious shrinking from sitting
down, legacy from the quarter of an hour he had been compelled to sit
while that hound worried at his throat. He was opposite one of the
pictures now. It gleamed, dark and oily, limning a Scots Grey who had
mounted a wounded Russian on his horse, and was bringing him back
prisoner from the Balaclava charge. A very old friend--bought in
'fifty-nine. It had hung in his chambers in the Albany--hung with him
ever since. With whom would it hang when he was gone? For that holy
woman would scrap it, to a certainty, and stick up some Crucifixion or
other, some new-fangled high art thing! She could even do that now if
she liked--for she owned it, owned every mortal stick in the room, to the
very glass he would drink his champagne from; all made over under the
settlement fifteen years ago, before his last big gamble went wrong. "De
l'audace, toujours de l'audace!" The gamble which had brought him down
till his throat at last was at the mercy of a bullying hound. The pitcher
and the well! At the mercy---! The sound of a popping cork dragged him
from reverie. He moved to his seat, back to the window, and sat down to
his dinner. By George! They had got him an oyster! And he said:

"I've forgotten my teeth!"

While the man was gone for them, he swallowed the oysters, methodically
touching them one by one with cayenne, Chili vinegar, and lemon. Ummm!
Not quite what they used to be at Pimm's in the best days, but not
bad--not bad! Then seeing the little blue bowl lying before him, he
looked up and said:

"My compliments to cook on the oysters. Give me the champagne." And he
lifted his trembling teeth. Thank God, he could still put 'em in for
himself! The creaming goldenish fluid from the napkined bottle slowly
reached the brim of his glass, which had a hollow stem; raising it to his
lips, very red between the white hairs above and below, he drank with a
gurgling noise, and put the glass down-empty. Nectar! And just cold
enough!

"I frapped it the least bit, sir."

"Quite right. What's that smell of flowers?"

"It's from those 'yacinths on the sideboard, sir. They come from Mrs.
Larne, this afternoon."

"Put 'em on the table. Where's my daughter?"

"She's had dinner, sir; goin' to a ball, I think."

"A ball!"

"Charity ball, I fancy, sir."

"Ummm! Give me a touch of the old sherry with the soup."

"Yes, sir. I shall have to open a bottle:"

"Very well,