In the puffy face, and uncertain wavering eyes of Pansa, together with his nervous, trembling fingers, could be seen the demon of drunkenness; whilst his seat apart, and his sullen, dejected, downcast looks, marked a nightmare depression of spirits, during a brief separation from the wine cup. Torquatus, unlike Flaccus, retained no foolish vanity in his advanced years, and his simple attire bore a strong contrast to the rest. Curiosity might be awakened as to the reason why he was included in the company present, for peevish, snappish acidity was plain as written symbols in his prying, sharp, small eyes, in his hard, withered, wrinkled face, and thin, sourly down‐drawn lips. To the host, in the middle of these, Afer proceeded to pay his respects. Unheedful, unanswering to the chatter around his chair, the lord of the house sat absorbed in his reflections. He leant his head first on one hand and then on the other, shifting continuously and restlessly, as if a prey to uneasy thoughts. His face was pale, and his brows slightly contracted. Ever and anon, when his attention was desired to hear something of interest, he gave a nod, or glimmering smile, rather weary and ghastly than otherwise. His dress was the envy even of the dandies, his guests; for his ‘synthesis,’ or loose upper garment, which all wore, as more convenient for table than the toga, was made of silk—a fabric, at that time, in Rome, of such extravagant cost, as to be forbidden by imperial edict only a few years before the date of this story. The appearance of Afer before him roused him from his reverie. ‘Welcome, my friend,’ said he, extending his hand, and shaking himself, as if to clear away all thoughts that interfered with his duties as host; ‘welcome to my poor house!’ ‘I trust you marked the poverty as you came through,’ rasped the voice of Torquatus, the sour, ever on the watch to vent a sneer. ‘I came hastily to greet Apicius, our generous host,’ returned Afer, as he exchanged courtesies with the smiling guests, all of whom he knew. ‘And faster still to eat his dinner,’ added the old man. ‘Ho! ho! Torquatus, I see you are in your best humour,’ cried Apicius, joining in the laugh, with more vivacity and briskness in his appearance. ‘Who arrived first to his appointment, Apicius?’ inquired Afer. ‘When my slave called me to the room, I found Torquatus here alone to greet me,’ replied the host. ‘Then has Torquatus the best right to the best part of your dinner, noble host, since his eagerness to eat it outstripped us all. Hungry Torquatus!’ Loud laughter from all drowned the snarling reply of the old man, but his scowling eyes spoke volumes. ‘Thou hast it fairly,’ said Apicius, when the merriment ceased; ‘but don’t be ill‐humoured, Torquatus—it so ill becomes thee.’