_Lord Strath._ (_to himself_). Deuced quaint-looking people--wish they wouldn't all eat their soup at me! Why can't somebody say something? Wonder who's the Lady in black, all over big silver tears--like a foreign funeral. Don't feel equal to talking to MARJORY again till I've had some Sherry. (_After sipping it._) Wormwood, by Jove! Champagne will probably be syrup--touch old GILWATTLE up if he isn't careful--ah, _he_ jibs at the Sherry! _Uncle Gab._ Where the dickens did MONTY get this stuff, MARIA? Most 'strordinary bitter taste! _Mrs. Tid._ (_to herself, in an agony_). I _knew_ that bottle of GWENNIE'S Quinine Wine had got down into the cellar _somehow_! (_Aloud._) Don't drink it, Uncle, please, if it isn't _quite_ what you like! _Uncle Gab._ I'll take his Lordship's opinion. What do _you_ think of this Sherry, my Lord? Don't you find it rather--eh? _Lord Strath._ (_observing his hostess frown at him imperiously_). Oh, excellent, Sir--very--er--mellow and agreeable! _Uncle Gab._ Ha--yes--now your Lordship mentions it, there's a sort of nuttiness about it. [_He empties his glass._ _Lord Strath._ (_to himself_). There is--a _rotten_-nuttiness! I'm hanged if he hasn't bolted it! Wonderful old Johnny! _Mrs. Tid._ (_to him, in an under-tone_). You said _quite_ the right thing! _Lord Strath._ (_ambiguously_). Oh, not at all! [_Turbot and lobster-sauce are taken round, and conversation becomes general._ _Conversational Scraps._ Assure you if I touch the smallest particle of lobster it instantly flies to my.... Yes, _alive_. A dear friend of mine positively had to leave her lodgings at the seaside--she was so disturbed by the screams of the lobsters being boiled in the back-kitchen.... I was reading only the other day that oysters' hearts continue to beat down to the very moment they are being assimilated.... _What_ they must suffer, poor dears! Couldn't there be a law that they should only be eaten under chloroform, or something?... I _never_ get tired of turbot--cod, now, I _don't_ care for, and salmon I _like_--but I can't digest--_why_, is more than I can tell you.--(&c.) [Illustration: "Don't make a fuss--you can take _one_ glass, as he wishes it."] _Miss Seaton._ (_to herself._) To see DOUGLAS here a--a _paid parasite_--and actually seeming to _enjoy_ his food--it's like some dreadful nightmare--I _can't_ believe it! But I'm glad he hasn't the face to speak to me! _Lord Strath._ (_to_ SEAKALE _offering Hock._) If you please. (_To himself, after tasting._) Why, it's quite decent! I begin to feel up to having this out with MARJORY. (_Aloud._) Miss SEATON, isn't it rather ridiculous for two such old friends as we are to sit through dinner in deadly silence? Can't you bring yourself to talk to me? we shan't be overheard. You might tell me _why_ you think me such a ruffian--it would start us, at any rate!