Thus, through my presence of mind in boldly grappling with the nettle, I turned what might have been a disaster into a conspicuous triumph, for all the company, seeing the favour I was in with such a big wig as Hon'ble Cummerbund, listened to me with spell-bound enchantment, especially my friend Howard's sprightly young sister, a damsel of distinguished personal attractiveness, who was seated on my other side. Her birth-name is Louisa-Gwendolen; but her family and intimates, so she did inform me, call her "Wee-Wee."
Of the dinner itself I can speak highly, as being inexpressibly superior, both in stylishness of service and for the quality of the food, etc., to any meals hitherto furnished by Mrs Mankletow's mahogany board. Nevertheless, I wondered to find the Allbutt-Innetts behind the times in one respect, viz., the lighting, which was with old-fashioned candles and semi-obscured lamps, instead of the more modern and infinitely more brilliant illumination of gas! Here, at least, though in other particulars of very mediocre elegance, I must pronounce Porticobello House the more up to date.
In taking leave, I did thank Hon'ble Sir Chetwynd Cummerbund profusely for so discreetly retaining its feline contents within the generous bag of his mouth, whereat he clapped my back very cordially, advising me to abstain for the future from a super-abundance of frills, since the character of a diligent legal native student was a precious lily that needed no princely gilding, and adding that he was indebted to me for a most entertaining and mirthful evening. This I do not understand, as I had not uttered any of the facetious puns and conceits wherewith it is my wont—when I will[1]—to set the table in a simper.
But possibly I may have spoken rather humorously unawares, and it is proverbial that these exalted legal luminaries are pleased with a rattle and tickled by a straw.
On my return I did omit to mention Miss Wee-Wee to Jessimina; but, after all, cui bono?
[1] This is a fairly sample specimen, though I have frequently surpassed it in waggish drollery.—H. B. J.
XVI
Mr Jabberjee makes a pilgrimage to the Shrine of Shakespeare.