Certainly there was a great deal to be thankful for in the eating and
drinking line, but of all I remember little, except a general vision of
silver dishes, champagne, splendour, and things I did not want to eat
being constantly handed to me. What I do remember is Miss Holmes, and
nothing but Miss Holmes; the charm of her conversation, the light of her
beautiful eyes, the fragrance of her hair, her most flattering interest
in my unworthy self. To tell the truth, we got on "like fire in the
winter grass," as the Zulus say, and when that dinner was over the grass
was still burning.

I don't think that Lord Ragnall quite liked it, but fortunately Lady
Longden was a talkative person. First she conversed about her cold in
the head, sneezing at intervals, poor soul, and being reduced to send
for another handkerchief after the entrées. Then she got off upon
business matters; to judge from the look of boredom on her host's face,
I think it must have been of settlements. Three times did I hear him
refer her to the lawyers--without avail. Lastly, when he thought he had
escaped, she embarked upon a quite vigorous argument with Dr. Jeffreys
about church matters--I gathered that she was "low" and he was
"high"--in which she insisted upon his lordship acting as referee.

"Do try and keep your attention fixed, George," I heard her say
severely. "To allow it to wander when high spiritual affairs are under
discussion (sneeze) is scarcely reverent. Could you tell the man to shut
that door? The draught is dreadful. It is quite impossible for you to
agree with both of us, as you say you do, seeing that metaphorically Dr.
Jeffreys is at one pole and I am at the other." (Sneeze.)

"Then I wish I were at the Tropic of Cancer," I heard him mutter with a
groan.