“Hail, brother wizard! I greet in you, if not a master, at least a student not unworthy my esteem.” Susie was convulsed with laughter at his pompousness, and he turned to her with the utmost gravity. “Madam, your laughter is more soft in mine ears than the singing of Bulbul in a Persian garden.” Dr Porhoët interposed with introductions. The magician bowed solemnly as he was in turn made known to Susie Boyd, and Margaret, and Arthur Burdon. He held out his hand to the grim Irish painter. “Well, my O’Brien, have you been mixing as usual the waters of bitterness with the thin claret of Bordeaux?” “Why don’t you sit down and eat your dinner?” returned the other, gruffly. “Ah, my dear fellow, I wish I could drive the fact into this head of yours that rudeness is not synonymous with wit. I shall not have lived in vain if I teach you in time to realize that the rapier of irony is more effective an instrument than the bludgeon of insolence.” O’Brien reddened with anger, but could not at once find a retort, and Haddo passed on to that faded, harmless youth who sat next to Margaret. “Do my eyes deceive me, or is this the Jagson whose name in its inanity is so appropriate to the bearer? I am eager to know if you still devote upon the ungrateful arts talents which were more profitably employed upon haberdashery.” The unlucky creature, thus brutally attacked, blushed feebly without answering, and Haddo went on to the Frenchman, Meyer as more worthy of his mocking. “I’m afraid my entrance interrupted you in a discourse. Was it the celebrated harangue on the greatness of Michelangelo, or was it the searching analysis of the art of Wagner?” “We were just going,” said Meyer, getting up with a frown. “I am desolated to lose the pearls of wisdom that habitually fall from your cultivated lips,” returned Haddo, as he politely withdrew Madame Meyer’s chair. He sat down with a smile. “I saw the place was crowded, and with Napoleonic instinct decided that I could only make room by insulting somebody. It is cause for congratulation that my gibes, which Raggles, a foolish youth, mistakes for wit, have caused the disappearance of a person who lives in open sin; thereby vacating two seats, and allowing me to eat a humble meal with ample room for my elbows.” Marie brought him the bill of fare, and he looked at it gravely. “I will have a vanilla ice, O well-beloved, and a wing of a tender chicken, a fried sole, and some excellent pea-soup.” “_Bien, un potage, une sole,_ one chicken, and an ice.” “But why should you serve them in that order rather than in the order I gave you?” Marie and the two Frenchwomen who were still in the room broke into exclamations at this extravagance, but Oliver Haddo waved his fat hand.