"NO!" roared Mr. Culpepper.

Mr. Sharp sat blinking at him, but his misgivings vanished before the
glances of admiring devotion which Miss Garland was sending in his
direction. He construed them rightly not only as a reward, but as an
incentive to further efforts. In the midst of an impressive silence Mrs.
Culpepper collected the plates and, producing a dish of fruit from the
sideboard, placed it upon the table.

"Help yourself, Mr. Sharp," she said, pushing the bottle of port towards
him.

Mr. Sharp complied, having first, after several refusals, put a little
into the ladies' glasses, and a lot on the tablecloth near Mr. Culpepper.
Then, after a satisfying sip or two, he rose with a bland smile and
announced his intention of making a speech.

"But you've made one," said his host, in tones of fierce expostulation.

"That--that was las' night," said Mr. Sharp. "This is to-night--your
birthday."

"Well, we don't want any more," said Mr. Culpepper.

Mr. Sharp hesitated. "It's only his fun," he said, looking round and
raising his glass. "He's afraid I'm going to praise him up--praise him
up. Here's to my old friend, Mr. Culpepper: one of the best. We all
have our--faults, and he has his--has his. Where was I?"