“Yes, sir,” said the butler.
“Fetch a bottle directly,” exclaimed Trevor. “Really, gentlemen, I am very sorry,” he continued, as the butler went out of the room. “It’s a mistake. Here, Robert, what champagne’s that?”
The footman brought a bottle from the ice-pail.
“Why, confound it all!” cried Trevor, “I said the dry Clicquot was to be brought—such fools!”
“Mr Lloyd did get out the Clicker, sir; but Mrs Lloyd said the second best would do, sir,” replied the footman, glad of an opportunity to change the responsibility.
“Then all the wine is of the ordinary kind?” said Trevor.
“Yes, sir,” said the footman.
“Look here, Lloyd,” said Trevor, as the butler came into the room, “you made a mistake about that claret. See that the other wine is right; and if not, change it.”
The butler looked aghast and hurried out, to return in a few minutes with a basket of bottles, which he changed for those already in the room.
Trevor said no more, but he was evidently making up his mind to suppress the mutiny with a high hand on the morrow; for, as the dinner went on, he became aware that in many little things his orders had been departed from. There was a paucity of plate, when an abundance lay in the chests; the dinner was good, by stretching a point, but not such as would please men accustomed to the chefs of Pall Mall; and when at last the coffee was brought in it was of the most economical quality.