When they settled down at last, flushed and dishevelled, Mr. Tuke looked in the face of a certain lady, with whom he sat in a corner, and was aware of his pulses drumming a little thickly. “I think I have lived an empty life for long,” he said; “and now I have learned to know myself.” She twinkled up at him archly. “Does the knowledge repay the study?” said she. “Cruel!” he answered. “Ah! if you only guessed my tutor.” “But I cannot.” “Think, madam, what eloquent teachers are your eyes.” “Indeed, they have pupils, sir. Oh, the heavenly pedagogues!” “Their irises paint one the colour of hope. It is blue, I vow.” “Like the rose that lives in man’s imagination. Oh, fie, Mr. Tuke! Here is an ardent philosopher of the desert! Tell me, does the house of shadows yield many mysteries? I am dying to hear all about it.” “Then I will save you.” “As you have once already.” “It yields--yes; I think I can say it yields one at least.” “Oh! oh! what is it about?” “A Lake of Wine.” Both talkers turned round with a start. Captain Luvaine had, it appeared, been seated solitary near them, and had dropped upon the ground a heavy book in which he had been reading. “Really, Captain Luvaine,” said Miss Royston peevishly, “I protest you near frightened me to death.” The melancholy soldier was apologizing with much humility and confusion, when up came Sir David, and insisted upon carrying off the gentlemen for a pipe and a glass. CHAPTER XIII. “When is it ye’re leavin’? Is it the ocean’s heavin’ That sets your stummick grievin’, To see what lies before? What ails that nowt ’ll start ’ee? We wait ye right and hearty, Oh, Mounseer Buonaparte, Upon S’thampton shore! Chorus, gen’men, chorus! We wait ye ri’ and hearty, Oh, Mou’seer Buonaparte, Upo’ S’thampton shore!” He thumped the table, did that crapulous squireen, and all the others joined in, as by honour expected--like school-boys beating the bounds of time. Truth to tell, the hour was late, the whisky-punch was low in the bowl, and the three little moon-calves were very drunk. One of them, moreover, was in process of insulting Captain Luvaine. “You’re no’ good company, sir,” he had said, after staring at that baneful person for some solemn moments. “I thick you no’ goo’ company, and I--hic!--ta’ leaverer-telleso”;--and he nodded profoundly, with the air of one who has solved a long-vexing problem. “Well, sir,” said the captain, “you’re welcome to your opinion for me.” He had sat out the orgy; but with something a gloomy and preoccupied air, and with a frequent manner of impatience to have it ended. “Whas you say?” said the offender, cocking his head magisterially. “Whas you say, sir?” Then he sang: Jake gave Moll a push-- Derry-derry-down. Moll fell into a bush-- Derry-down-derry. “Is that to your taste, capt’n? or d’ye prefer somethig i’ the psalmody fashion?”