That social sacrament, as some one calls dinner, must have a strange, mysterious power over our affections and our sympathies; for when these two men next met each other, with napkins on their knees and soup before them, their manner was bland, and even cordial. You will probably say, How could they be otherwise? that was neither the time nor place to display acrimony or bitterness, nor could they carry out in Lizzy's presence the unseemly discussion of the morning. Very true; and their bearing might, consequently, exhibit a calm and decent courtesy; but it did more,—far more; it was familiar and even friendly, and it is to the especial influence of the dinner-table that I attribute the happy change. The blended decorum and splendor—that happy union of tangible pleasure with suggestive enjoyment, so typified by a well-laid and well-spread table—is a marvellous peacemaker. Discrepant opinions blend into harmonious compromise as the savory odors unite into an atmosphere of nutritious incense, and a wider charity to one's fellows comes in with the champagne. Where does diplomacy unbend? where do its high-priests condescend to human feelings and sympathies save at dinner? Where, save at Mansion House banquets, are great Ministers facetious?
Where else are grave Chancellors jocose and Treasury Lords convivial?
The three who now met were each in their several ways in good spirits: Grog, because he had successfully reasserted his influence over Beecher; Beecher, because, while appearing to be defeated, he had duped his adversary; and Lizzy, for the far better reason that she was looking her very best, and that she knew it. She had, moreover, passed a very pleasant morning; for Mr. Twining had made it his business—doubtless, with much hand-rubbing and many exclamations of “What fun!”—to go amongst all the tradespeople of Baden, proclaiming the arrival of a “millionnaire Milor,” and counselling them to repair with all the temptations of their shops to the hotel. The consequence was that Lizzy's drawing-room was like a fair till the hour of dressing for dinner. Jewelry in its most attractive forms, rich lace, silks, velvets, furs, costly embroideries, inlaid cabinets, gems, ancient and modern,—all the knick-knackeries which a voluptuous taste has conceived, all the extravagant inventions of a fashion bent on ruinous expenditure,—were there; fans sparkling with rubies, riding-whips incrusted with turquoises, slippers studded over with pearls. There was nothing wanting; even richly carved meerschaums and walking-sticks were paraded, in the hope that as objects of art and elegance they might attract her favor. Her father had found her dazzled and delighted by all this splendor, and told her that one of the first duties of her high station was the encouragement of art. “It is to you, and such as you, these people look for patronage,” said he. “An English peeress is a princess, and must dispense her wealth generously.”
I am bound to acknowledge, her Ladyship did not shrink from this responsibility of her station. Without caring for the cost,—as often without even inquiring the price,—she selected what she wished; and rows of pearls, diamond bracelets, rings, and head ornaments covered her dressing-table, while sable and Astrakan cloaks, cashmeres, and Genoa velvets littered every corner of the room. “After all,” thought she, as she fixed a jewelled comb in her hair, “it is very nice to be rich; and while delighting yourself you can make so many others happy.”
Doubtless, too, there was some reason in the reflection; and in the smiling faces and grateful glances around her she found a ready confirmation of the sentiment. Happily for her at the moment, she did not know how soon such pleasures pall, and, as happily for ourselves, too, is it the law of our being that they should do so, and that no enjoyment is worth the name which has cost no effort to procure, nor any happiness a boon which has not demanded an exertion to arrive at. If Beecher was startled at the sight of all these costly purchases, his mind was greatly relieved as Grog whispered him that Herr Koch, the banker, had opened a credit for him, on which he might draw as freely as he pleased. The word “Lackington” was a talisman which suddenly converted a sea of storm and peril into a lovely lake only ruffled by a zephyr.
At last the pleasant dinner drew to a close; and as the coffee was brought in, the noise of a carriage beneath the windows attracted them.
“That's my trap,” said Davis; “I ordered it for half past eight, exactly.”
“But there 's no train at this hour,” began Lizzy.
“I know that; but I mean to post all night, and reach Carlsruhe for the first departure in the morning. I 'm due in London on Monday morning,—eh, my Lord?”
“Yes, that you are,” said Beecher; “Dublin, Tuesday evening.”