Ahlberg was an accomplished diner out--but that is something different from a good diner at home. He was graceful and attentive, but he lacked altogether the Anglo-Saxon good fellowship. He tucked a napkin under his chin, discussed ménus with much gravity, and referred too often to Hans, a nondescript person whom Madame Koller had brought from Vienna, and who was cook, butler, major-domo and valet in one--and highly accomplished in all. Pembroke was rather disgusted with too much conversation of this sort: “Hans, you are too pronounced with your truffles. There should be a hint--a mere suspicion--” “Yes, monsieur. But madame likes truffles. Every day it is ‘Hans, you are too sparing of your truffles.’” “This salmi is really charming. Hans, I shall put it down in my note book.” “I can give monsieur admirable salmis of pigeons as well as duck.” Pembroke, impelled by a spirit of perverseness, declined everything Ahlberg and Hans united in praising, and confined himself solely to port, a wine he did not much care for, and which both Ahlberg and Hans reprobated in the strongest terms. Not so Mr. Cole. He went religiously through the ménu, praising and exclaiming, and keeping up a fusillade of compliments like the chorus in a Greek play. Nor did he forget the long-necked bottles. At first he positively declined anything but claret. But obeying a look from Ahlberg, Hans filled the clergyman’s glass with champagne. Mr. Cole laughed and blushed, but on being good naturedly rallied by his companions, especially Mr. Hibbs, he consented to one--only one glass. But this was followed by a second, poured out when Mr. Cole was looking another way--and presently as Hans by degrees slyly filled the half dozen wine glasses at his plate, Mr. Cole began with an air of perfect unconsciousness to taste them all. Soon his face flushed, and by the time the dinner was half over, Mr. Cole was half over the line of moderation too. He became convivial, and even affectionate. Pembroke, who had looked on the little clergyman’s first glass of champagne with a smile, began to feel sorry for him, and a very profound contempt for his entertainer. Hans and his pseudo-master evidently understood each other, and exchanged glances oftener than master and man usually do. As the clergyman became more free in his talk, Ahlberg looked at Pembroke with a foxy smile, but received only a cool stare in return. Pembroke was a jolly companion enough, but this deliberately making a gentleman, weak as he might be, but still a gentleman, drunk in a woman’s house struck him as not the most amusing thing in the world. Ahlberg, however, seemed to enjoy the state of affairs, and though he had no sympathy from Pembroke or young Peyton, Mr. Hibbs and one or two others appreciated it highly. “Ah, Mr. Cole,” he cried, “you know how to dine, I see you do. You would not discredit the Trois Frères itself. Hans, more Chablis.” Poor Cole’s eyes twinkled. He loved to be thought a man of the world.