Hastily completing her toilet, Harriet joined her hostess, who conducted her down to a large dining-room, wrapt in gloom. The two dozen morocco chairs ranged against the wall, looked sepulchral by the light of a single lamp, placed in the centre of a long mahogany table, which was graced by a fried steak, a huge piece of cheese, bread and butter, and lettuces from the garden. Harriet regarded the preparations for supper with secret dismay. She was greedy by nature, but it was the love of good feeding, rather than a superfluity of food, that induced her to be so. However, when the Baron produced a couple of bottles of the very best Champagne to add to the meal, she felt her appetite somewhat revive, and played almost as good a knife and fork as the Baroness. Bobby and Miss Wynward, who as it appeared, took her meals with the family, were the only ones who did not do justice to the supper. The lad looked worn-out and very pale, but when Miss Wynward suggested that a glass of champagne might do him good, and dispel the exhaustion under which he was evidently labouring, his mother vehemently opposed the idea. “Champagne for a child like ’im,” she cried, “I never ’eard of such a thing. Do you want to make ’im a drunkard, Miss Wynward? No! thank you, there ’ave been no ’ard drinkers in _our_ family, and ’e shan’t begin it! ’Is father was one of the soberest men alive! ’E never took anything stronger than toast and water all the time I knew ’im.” “Of course not, your ladyship,” stammered Miss Wynward, who seemed in abject fear of her employer, “I only thought as Bobby seems so very tired, that a little stimulant----” “Then let ’im go to bed,” replied Madame Gobelli. “Bed is the proper place for boys when they’re tired! Come, Sir, off to bed with you, at once, and don’t let me ’ear anything more of you till to-morrow morning!” “But mayn’t I have some supper?” pleaded Bobby. “Not a bit of it!” reiterated the Baroness, “if you’re so done up that you require champagne, your stomach can’t be in a fit state to digest beef and bread! Be off at once, I say, or you’ll get a taste of my stick.” “But, my lady--” said Miss Wynward, entreatingly. “It’s not a bit of good, Miss Wynward, I know more about boys’ insides than you do. Sleep’s the thing for Bobby. Now, no more nonsense, I say--”