ite
cotton kept us in countenance.

Mrs. Kidder had evidently not been comfortably certain whether we ought
not to march into the restaurant arm in arm, but the penniless goddess
(who had perhaps been brought to Europe as a subtle combination of
etiquette-mistress and ladies'-maid) cut the Gordian knot with a quick
glance, to our intense relief; and we filed in anyhow, places being
indicated to Terry and me on either hand of our hostess.

A painted satin menu, with a list of dishes as long as Terry's tailor's
bills, lay beside each plate. We were to be provided with all the
luxuries which were not in season; those which were would have been far
too common for an American millionairess, such as I began to be more and
more convinced that our hostess was. It was the kind of luncheon which
calls for rare and varied wines, just as certain poetical recitations
call for a musical accompaniment; therefore the Countess's first words
on sitting down at the table came as a shock.

"Now, Sir Ralph," said she, "you must just order any kind of wine you
and Mr. Ter--Barrymore like. Mr. Kidder never would have alcohol in the
house, except for sickness, and we three drink only water, so I don't
know anything about it; but I want that you gentlemen should suit your
own taste. Do make the waiter bring you something _real_ nice."

My sparkling visions of Steinberger Cabinet, Cos d'Estournel, or an
"Extra Sec" of '92, burst like a rainbow bubble. Here was one of life's
little tragedies.

Neither Terry nor I are addicted to looking too lovingly on wine when it
is red, or even pale golden; still, at this moment I had a sharp pang of
sympathy for Tantalus. To be sure, that hint as to "something real nice"
grudged no expense; but I must have been blest with more cool,
unadulterated "cheek" than two seasons of journalism had given me, to
order anything appropriate while our hostess drowned her generous
impulses in iced water.

With a wooden expression of countenance, I asked Terry what he would
have.

"Water, thanks," he replied airily, and if, instead of gazing at the
ceiling with elaborate interest, he had allowed his eye to meet mine at
that instant, a giggle might have burst over that luncheon-table, out of
a clear sky. Perforce, I felt obliged to follow his lead, for only a
guzzling brute could have bibbed alone, surrounded by four teetotallers;
but, deprived of even an innocent glass of Riviera beer, my soul
thirsted for a revenge