So did I. I felt I was going to need it!
Mrs. Waters let it foam and sizzle into her glass; Blanche, though murmuring that the horrid stuff always reminded her of seltzer-water that the knives had been washed in, sipped at it for the sake of the “occasion.” Major Montresor took it—reverting afterwards to his invariable whisky and soda.
The only “grown-up” who didn’t take it was my employer. Still Waters refused his usual peg and drank plain water.
Every now and then he seemed to be making spasmodic efforts to remember that he had guests under his roof; but they weren’t successful! This added to my discomfort! I saw his mother glance at him, but only once, and with a half-humorous little smile! Didn’t she mind the fact of the host remaining well over the verge of unmitigated sulks? Apparently not! Possibly she’s seen him in his tantrums before now—even though she didn’t know the reason of these! I was feeling almost thankful that one of the guests was such a host in himself; thankful, up to a point, for Theo’s gusto! For the child who was “sitting-up” grew more excited as each course was handed round. With her rose-flushed cheeks, her tossed curls from which the white fillet had slipped crookedly down over one eyebrow, her roving brown gaze, and her giggling spirits that raced higher and higher with the bubbles in the glasses (of the others), she was the model of an infant Bacchante. “Sitting-up!” It was her wretched brother whom she was causing to sit up, and his still more wretched official fiancée! The only thing to do was for both of us to rise to the situation. Only he wouldn’t—or couldn’t. So, once more I had to.
There is after all a certain relief in feeling you’ve reached the climax of all things, and that Fate cannot have anything worse in store!
And this I did feel when Uncle Albert, having tossed off his toast, expressed a wish to know what sort of place the young folks fancied for their honeymoon.
“Oh, the Riviera!” was what I rushed into the breach with here. “It would be so glorious to see palms and flowering oleanders, and casinos, and scent all growing wild!—I mean the Parma violets for it—against a brilliant blue sea—such a treat to see a really bright blue bay and golden sunshine in the middle of winter——”
“Winter?” put in Uncle Albert quite indignantly. “But my dear, we’re well on into June now; you aren’t going to keep this poor Billy of yours”—with a wave of the hand towards the head of the table—“waiting for his wedding till November or December, surely?”