ore, Ben!" murmured Lord Alvaston, "and very natural too!"

"And churn, Ben!" nodded Mr. Dalroyd, his delicate nostrils quivering
in his sleepy smile, "You churn till you sweat, churn till you blow
like any grampus, I understand."

Sir Benjamin took a gulp of wine, choked, coughed, and grew purple.

"Eh? What? Ho!" exclaimed the Captain. "A churn? Ben? Split me!
Some pretty dairy-wench? Aha! Ben--confess!"

Pompous, dignified, Sir Benjamin rose and took a pinch of snuff with
great deliberation and apparent satisfaction.

"Od, gentlemen," said he, lace handkerchief a-flutter, "since you'd
have it, I'll freely--hem! freely confess it. But 'twas no rustic
charmer, no village beauty, no dainty wench o' the dairy bewitched
me--no, no! Od's my life, sirs, I've been beforehand wi' most of
ye--body o' me--yes! For 'twas my joy and felicity to--ah--hem! to
labour at the delightful art of--ah--buttermaking 'neath the bright and
witching eyes of--our Admirable Betty!"

"O sly, Ben!" murmured Lord Alvaston, "O Ben--curst sly, sink me!"

"But--a churn!" said the Captain. "Begad! So fatiguing!"

"I churned, firstly, gentlemen, because 'twas so my lady's will and
such is, and ever will be, my law, as the mighty Hercules span for the
tender Omphale so did I churn for my lady. I churned, secondly,
because the churn is a--hem! a romantic engine--I appeal to Alton!"

"So 'tis," mumbled his lordship, "demme if 'tisn't!"

"And I churned thirdly, because the labour entailed is admirable for
the---hem! for tuning up the liver--I refer you to Marchdale."

"Nothing like it!" assented that youthful man of the world, "for liver,
megrims or the pip give me a churn--and Betty along with it o' course."

"Ha," said Mr. Dalroyd, his smile growing a little malicious, "and
then, having put your liver in tune with the churn you proceeded to put
it out again by swallowing deep potations of--rhubarb wine of my lady's
own decoction."

Sir Benjamin sat down, his plump features took on a careworn expression
and he shuddered slightly.

"Rhubarb!" whispered Lord Alvaston, staring.

"Rhubarb!" muttered the Captain. "O Gad! Poor Ben!"

"Heroic Ben!" said Sir Jasper, his fine eyes more soulful than ever.

"Three glasses!" sighed Sir Benjamin. "Aye--three--she insisted! But,
body o' me, sirs, what would you? Beauty is the--hem! the fount, the
source, the mainspring of valour, is't not? As in olden days our
ancestors were ready