There was a pause. Mr. Sherwin coughed; it was evidently a warning
matrimonial peal that he had often rung before--for Mrs. Sherwin
started, and looked up at him directly.

"As the lady of the house, Mrs. S., it strikes me that you might offer
a visitor, like this gentleman, some cake and wine, without making any
particular hole in your manners!"

"Oh dear me! I beg your pardon! I'm very sorry, I'm sure"--and she
poured out a glass of wine, with such a trembling hand that the
decanter tinkled all the while against the glass. Though I wanted
nothing, I ate and drank something immediately, in common
consideration for Mrs. Sherwin's embarrassment.

Mr. Sherwin filled himself a glass--held it up admiringly to the
light--said, "Your good health, Sir, your very good health;" and drank
the wine with the air of a connoisseur, and a most expressive smacking
of the lips. His wife (to whom he offered nothing) looked at him all
the time with the most reverential attention.

"You are taking nothing yourself, Mrs. Sherwin," I said.

"Mrs. Sherwin, Sir," interposed her husband, "never drinks wine, and
can't digest cake. A bad stomach--a very bad stomach. Have another
glass yourself. Won't you, indeed? This sherry stands me in six
shillings a bottle--ought to be first-rate wine at that price: and so
it is. Well, if you won't have any more, we will proceed to business.
Ha! ha! business as _I_ call it; pleasure I hope it will be to _you_."