"These are the special glasses, sir; only four to the bottle."
The servant filled, screwing up his mouth.
Old Heythorp drank, and put the glass down empty with a sigh. He had been ,faithful to his principles, finished the bottle before touching the sweet--a good bottle--of a good brand! And now for the souffle! Delicious, flipped down with the old sherry! So that holy woman was going to a ball, was she! How deuced funny! Who would dance with a dry stick like that, all eaten up with a piety which was just sexual disappointment? Ah! yes, lots of women like that--had often noticed 'em--pitied 'em too, until you had to do with them and they made you as unhappy as themselves, and were tyrants into the bargain. And he asked:
"I'll have my port with it--the 'sixty-eight." The man stood gazing with evident stupefaction. He had not expected this. The old man's face was very flushed, but that might be the bath. He said feebly:
"Would you mind if I spoke to Miss Heythorp, Sir?"
"If you do, you can leave my service."
"Well, Sir, I don't accept the responsibility."
"Well, get it, then; and don't be an ass."