"Quite, sir."
"If you don't mind, Diggs, I think I shall save the rest of the wine until after the children have gone," said Mr. Bingle, slowly.
Diggs reflected. "Very good, sir. A splendid idea, sir."
"And then I shall ask you and Watson and Melissa and Mrs. Watson to drink with me to Mrs. Bingle."
"Thank you, sir."
"It does my heart good to see the way these young rascals eat, Diggs. They haven't had a dinner like this in a long time. Have a little more chicken, Wilberforce—and some Brussels sprouts. And how about you, Rutherford? Anything more?"
"I'll have some more soup, daddy," said Rutherford from his high chair. He was just ending the third course.
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Bingle.
Melissa had come in to see that everything was going along in proper order. She looked hard at Mr. Bingle's plate and then at the gentleman himself. He met her reproachful gaze with one of mild apology.
"I'm saving my appetite for to-morrow, Melissa," he explained.