“With pleasure, sir.”
“Miss Charlotte Revel, you have really eaten nothing,” said Captain Drawlock.
“That proves you have not paid me the least attention,” replied the young lady. “Had you honoured me with a single glance during dinner, you could not but have observed that I have been dining very heartily.”
“I really am quite shocked, Miss Charlotte, and bow to your reproof. Will you take a glass of wine with me in reconciliation?”
“I consider a glass of Madeira a very poor bribe, sir.”
“Well, then, Miss Charlotte, it shall be champagne,” replied Captain Drawlock, in his gallantry. “Steward, champagne.” A fortunate hit for the company, as champagne was in general only produced upon what sailors call ‘clean shirt days,’ viz. Sundays and Thursdays.
“We are highly indebted to Miss Revel,” observed the colonel, bowing to her; “and I think we ought to drink her health in a bumper.”
Agreed to, nem con.
Champagne, thou darling of my heart! To stupefy oneself with other wines, is brutal; but to raise oneself to the seventh heaven with thee, is quite ethereal. The soul appears to spurn the body, and take a transient flight without its dull associate—the—the—broke down, by Jupiter! All I meant to say was, that champagne is very pretty tipple; and so thought the dinner party, who were proportionally enlivened.
“Is this orthodox, Mr Ferguson?” inquired the colonel, holding up his glass.