Meanwhile the dinner was proceeding, and to Stella it seemed that "good" scarcely adequately described it. One elaborate course after another followed in slow succession, borne in by the richly-liveried footmen on the massive plate for which Wyndward Hall was famous. Dishes which she had never heard of seemed to make their appearance only to pass out again untouched, excepting by the clergyman, Lord Guildford, and one or two other gentlemen. She noticed that the earl scarcely touched anything beyond a tiny piece of fish and a mutton cutlet; and Lord Guildford, who seemed to take an interest in anything connected with the dinner, remarked, as he glanced at the stately head of the house—
"There is one other person present who is of your way of thinking, Miss Etheridge—I mean the earl. He doesn't know what a good dinner means. I don't suppose he will taste anything more than the fish and a piece of Cheshire. When he is in town and at work——"
"At work? said Stella.
"In the House of Lords, you know; he is a member of the Cabinet."
Stella nodded.
"He is a statesman?"
"Exactly. He generally dines off a mutton chop served in the library. I've seen him lunching off a penny biscuit and a glass of water. Terrible, isn't it?"
Stella laughed.
"Perhaps he finds he can work better on a chop and a glass of water," she said.
"Don't believe it!" retorted Lord Guildford. "No man can work well unless he is well-fed."