Part 14 (1/2)
”Only a woman, Sir; but by no means bad. Sir Gervais always takes M.
Honore with him on board the yacht; but you'll see, Sir, that she knows how to roast, and we have a sweet saddle of Welsh mutton to-day, if it's not over-done.”
”That's what I'm afraid of, Rickards,” said the lawyer; and if a sigh ever denoted sorrow, his did as he spoke. ”Is the mutton small?”
”Very small, Sir. Mountain mutton.”
”And of course it will be done to rags! She serves it with currant-jelly, I snppose?”
”No, Sir, with guava. Sir Gervais prefers it.”
”And what else was there on your bill of fare for to-day?”
”A very simple dinner, Sir. Partridges on toast, a salad of white truffles, and a roast hare.”
”Quite enough, quite enough. Do you bring your wine down with you!”
”Only the Madeira, Sir. Sir Gervais gets some claret oyer from an Irish house called Sneyd's, which he calls very drinkable.”
”So do I, too; very drinkable, indeed; and your Madeira, you say, you bring with you. I say, Rickards, I think a gla.s.s of it and a biscuit wouldn't be amiss, if I'm to wait much longer.”
”I was just thinking the same, Sir; and if you'll step into the dining-room and take a morsel of game-pie, I'll fetch the Madeira out of the sun. It's fine and mellow by this time.”
”Is this your woman cook's performance?” said Mr. M'Kinky, as he helped himself for the second time to the pie.
”Yes, Sir; and she'd do better, too, if it wasn't that the ladies don't like so much jelly. Here's a fine whole truffle, Sir!”
”She's a valuable woman--a very valuable woman. Tell her, Rickards, that I drank her health in a b.u.mper. Yes, up to the brim with it. She shall have all the honours.”
”Something sweet, Sir? A little cherry tart?”
”Well, a little cherry tart I' ll not object to. No, no, Rickards, don't open champagne for me.”
”It's in the ice, Sir, and quite ready.”
”Let it stay there. I'm very simple about both eating and drinking. I'd not have made a bad hermit, if I hadn't been a lawyer.”
”No, indeed, Sir! I never saw a gentleman so easily pleased. You're not like Mr. Grenfell, Sir, that has the bill of fare brought up every morning to his dressing-room; ay, and M. Honore himself, too, summoned, just as if it was before a magistrate, to explain what's the meaning of this, and why he doesn't do the other.”
”Your master permits this?”
”He likes it, Sir; he laughs heartily at it.”
”And the ladies, do they like it?”
”Oh, Mr. Grenfell only comes over to Beau Park when the ladies is away, Sir, up in town, or at the sea-side.”
”He's no favourite of theirs, then?”
”I don't believe they ever saw him, Sir. At all events, he was never down with us when we were all at home.”