but then she was
a girl who under no circumstances would condescend to flirt. But she
had declared boldly to her father that she loved this man, and there
she was in close conversation with him! Would it not be better for
him to give up any further trouble, and let her marry the man? She
would certainly do so sooner or later.

When the ladies went upstairs that misery was over for a time, but
Mr. Wharton was still not happy. Dick came round and took his wife's
chair, so that he sat between the lord and his brother. Lopez and
Happerton fell into city conversation, and Sir Damask tried to amuse
himself with Mr. Wharton. But the task was hopeless,--as it always
is when the elements of a party have been ill-mixed. Mr. Wharton had
not even heard of the new Aldershot coach which Sir Damask had just
started with Colonel Buskin and Sir Alfonso Blackbird. And when Sir
Damask declared that he drove the coach up and down twice a week
himself, Mr. Wharton at any rate affected to believe that such a
thing was impossible. Then when Sir Damask gave his opinion as to the
cause of the failure of a certain horse at Northampton, Mr. Wharton
gave him no encouragement whatever. "I never was at a racecourse in
my life," said the barrister. After that Sir Damask drank his wine in
silence.

"You remember that claret, my lord?" said Dick, thinking that some
little compensation was due to him for what had been said about the
champagne.

But Lord Mongrober's dinner had not yet had the effect of mollifying
the man sufficiently for Dick's purposes. "Oh, yes, I remember the
wine. You call it '57, don't you?"

"And it is '57;--'57, Leoville."

"Very likely,--very likely. If it hadn't been heated before the
fire--"

"It hasn't been near the fire," said Dick.

"Or put into a hot decanter--"

"Nothing of the kind."

"Or treated after some other damnable fashion, it would be very good
wine, I dare say."

"You are hard to please, my lord, to-day," said Dick, who was put
beyond his bearing.

"What is a man to say? If you will talk about your wine, I can only
tell you what I think. Any man may get good wine,--that is if he can
afford to pay the price,--but it isn't one out of ten who knows how
to put it on the table." Dick felt this to be very hard. When a man
pays 110s. a dozen for his champagne, and then gives it to guests
like Lord Mongrober who are not even expected to return the favour,
then that man ought to be allowed to talk about