"I intended to 'ave dinner by myself somewhere if you couldn't come to the theatre," he remarked, "an' I prepared accordin'."
Under had bestowed small attention on his companion's attire, but now he looked more closely at him. Jessel unbuttoned his overcoat, and the valet observed that he wore correct evening dress. His last scruples vanished.
"Come inside and wait. I shall be ready in a jiffy," he said.
Cornelius entered Guy's abode, and condescended to smoke one of Guy's cigarettes, while his companion rigged himself out in one of his master's evening suits. Under was not long in making the change. He strutted into the room with a most consequential air when he made his reappearance. One of Guy's silk hats was on his head, one of Guy's white waistcoats had been made to meet round his waist, displaying one of Guy's newest shirts. He carried one of Guy's light overcoats over his arm, and selecting one of Guy's cigarettes he lit it and professed himself to be "fit for anything."
The two sallied forth again. Reaching the street, Cornelius hailed a passing hansom cab, giving the driver the address of a fashionable restaurant close at hand.
"Why not walk?" exclaimed Under.
"Real toffs never walk," replied Jessel, and Under was dumb.
The next quarter of an hour passed as time passes in dreamland. The bowing commissionaire at the door, the unobtrusive waiters, the gaily lighted room, with nearly every table occupied with parties of diners, the flowers, the beautiful women, seemed unsubstantial. He had seen them all before, it is true, it was no unaccustomed sight, but the circumstances were so different. Now all this was prepared for him—for his own especial delectation.
He awoke suddenly. An ice-pail was wheeled beside the table, and the wine waiter, lifting a gold-foiled bottle from the glittering crystals, drew the cork. He could not refuse, though for one moment the ghost of a resolution flitted across his mental vision. "Only this once," he murmured to himself. For thirty years, ever since he had been fifteen years of age, he had served. He was not going to allow his one evening of enjoyment of being served to be spoiled by any resolutions made by the servitor. His eyes lingered on the champagne lovingly. The delicate froth melted and the rising bubbles as they burst set free the imprisoned breath of the vine. He raised the glass and sipped. Then he nodded his head sagely.
"There's no fault to be found with your taste in champagne," he remarked to Jessel.