“Did he indeed, sir?” asked Vivian, with the most innocent and inquiring face. “Oh! don’t you know that?” said Boreall, “and poor stuff it is!” “Lord Alhambra! I will take a glass of Johannisberg with you, if the Marquess’ wines are in the state they should be: The Crescent warriors sipped their sherbet spiced, For Christian men the various wines were _iced_. I always think that those are two of the best lines in your Lordship’s poem,” said Vivian. His Lordship did not exactly remember them: it would have been a wonder if he had: but he thought Vivian Grey the most delightful fellow he ever met, and determined to ask him to Helicon Castle for the Christmas holidays. “Flat! flat!” said Vivian, as he dwelt upon the flavour of the Rhine’s glory. “Not exactly from the favourite bin of Prince Metternich, I think. By-the-bye, Dormer Stanhope, you have a taste that way; I will tell you two secrets, which never forget: decant your Johannisberg, and ice your Maraschino. Ay, do not stare, my dear Gastronome, but do it.” “O, Vivian! why did not you come and speak to me?” exclaimed a lady who was sitting at the side opposite Vivian, but higher in the table. “Ah! adorable Lady Julia! and so you were done on the grey filly.” “Done!” said the sporting beauty with pouting lips; “but it is a long story, and I will tell it you another time.” “Ah! do. How is Sir Peter?” “Oh! he has had a fit or two, since you saw him last.” “Poor old gentleman! let us drink his health. Do you know Lady Julia Knighton?” asked Vivian of his neighbour. “This Hall is bearable to dine in; but I once breakfasted here, and I never shall forget the ludicrous effect produced by the sun through the oriel window. Such complexions! Every one looked like a prize-fighter ten days after a battle. After all, painted glass is a bore; I wish the Marquess would have it knocked out, and have it plated.” “Knock out the painted glass!” said Mr. Boreall; “well, I must confess, I cannot agree with you.” “I should have been extremely surprised if you could. If you do not insult that man, Miss Courtown, in ten minutes I shall be no more. I have already a nervous fever.” “May I have the honour of taking a glass of champagne with you, Mr. Grey?” said Boreall. “Mr. Grey, indeed!” muttered Vivian: “Sir, I never drink anything but brandy.” “Allow me to give _you_ some champagne, Miss,” resumed Boreall, as he attacked the modest Miss Macdonald: “champagne, you know,” continued he, with a smile of agonising courtesy, “is quite the lady’s wine.” “Cynthia Courtown,” whispered Vivian with a sepulchral voice, “‘tis all over with me: I have been thinking what would come next. This is too much: I am already dead. Have Boreall arrested; the chain of circumstantial evidence is very strong.” “Baker!” said Vivian, turning to a servant, “go and inquire if Mr. Stapylton Toad dines at the Castle to-day.”