“Down at Brentwood it was very well one was in the country and grouse and woodcocks, and salmon and pheasants, came all naturally and seasonably; besides, he really had some very remarkable Burgundy; and, though few people will drink it nowadays, Chambertin is a Christmas wine.”
The cheese and the decanter of water were uppermost in George's mind, but he said nothing, suffering his companion to run on, which he did, over a wide expanse of titled and distinguished families, with all of whom he appeared to have lived on the closest terms of intimacy. Certainly of those Onslow himself knew, Jekyl related twenty little traits and tokens that showed he was speaking with true knowledge of the parties. Unlike Haggerstone, he rarely, if ever, alluded to any of those darker topics which form the staple of scandal. A very gentle ridicule of some slight eccentricity, a passing quiz of some peculiarity in dress, voice, or manner, was about the extent of Jekyl's criticism, which on no occasion betrayed any malice. Even the oddities that he portrayed were usually done by some passing bit of mimicry of the individual in question. These he threw into the dialogue of his story without halt or impediment, and which, being done with great tact, great command of face, and a most thorough appreciation of humor, were very amusing little talents, and contributed largely to his social success. Onslow laughed heartily at many of the imitations, and thus recognized characters that were introduced into a narrative without the trouble of announcing them.
“You've heard, perhaps, the series of mishaps which compelled us to take refuge here,” said George, leading the way to what he supposed would induce an equal degree of communicativeness on the other side.
“Oh! yes, the landlord told me of your disasters.”
“After all, I believe the very worst of them was coming to this place in such a season.”
“It is certainly seeing it en papillate” said Jekyl, smiling; “and you, perhaps, are not an admirer of beauty unadorned.”
“Say, rather, of Nature at her ugliest; for whatever it may be in summer, with foliage, and clear streams, flowers, smart folk airing and driving about, equipage, music, movement, and merry voices, now it is really too dismal. Pray, how do you get through the day?”
Jekyl smiled one of his quiet, equivocal smiles, and slightly raised his shoulders without speaking.
“Do you shoot?”
“No,” said he.