Through a spacious marble vestibule, adorned by gilded cornices, marble statues, and deer's horns, I was ushered by the plushed and powdered Mr. Jeames Toodles, into an illuminated billiard-room, and here he asked me for my card.
'Card!' reiterated I, reddening, for I had never discovered a use for such a thing before; 'no card is required; say that Allan Mac Innon wishes to speak with Sir Horace, without a moment's delay.'
The valet gave a supercilious smile; but, on perceiving me throw a hasty glance towards a rack of billiard-cues, he made a hasty retreat. After remaining for some time alone, and with no other company than my own bitter and galling reflections, I found the valet before me again; Sir Horace was just finishing dinner, and afterwards had to confer with a gentleman on business.
'And cannot see me?' I exclaimed, making a stride towards the speaker—a gesture which caused him to shuffle backward in terror; my heather-coloured kilt and fierce free mountaineer bearing had in them something new and appalling to him.
Mr. Toodles did not mean to say that exactly; Sir Horace would see me in the course of a few minutes; meantime, would I join Captain Clavering and Mr. Snobleigh, who were lingering over their wine, before ascending to the drawing-room? I bowed, and followed the valet mechanically, with a breast that swelled with many strange emotions. If I committed, in thought, the double sin of covetousness and envy on that occasion, when contrasting the humility, plainness, and penury of my dilapidated home with the splendour and luxury I beheld, it was not for myself, but for the sake of one whom I felt assured would not be long spared to me now; and whom not even the prediction of the Red Priest could protect from the hand of the Spoiler.
From the walnut sideboard the liveried servants were removing the dinner, the rich and overpowering odour of which filled that loftily ceiled, heavily curtained and gorgeous dining-room. To me it seemed a scene from a romance. The vases were richly gilt and mounted with precious stones; the dessert, entree dishes, the soup-tureens, ashets, &c., with which the powdered lacqueys were trotting to and fro, were all of silver exquisitely chased; so were the classic wine-coolers, with the champagne in ice, and the ponderous branches of six wax-lights each. The wassail-bowl of silver had already made its tour; and at a side-table was the coffee simmering, and served in antique china and silver.
But the coffee was neglected, for Clavering, Snobleigh, and two or three other sporting visitors, with Sheriff Mac Fee, were loitering over their wine, fruit, and nuts; and the long polished table was resplendent with tall crystal decanters of the baronet's rare old port, vintage '34, sherry pure as amber, amontillado, first-growth claret, and straw-coloured champagne, foaming in goblet-shaped glasses, while old Hock, Stienberger, Malaga, and Moselle, stood in battalion under the sideboard, or in a cluster under the gigantic epergne.
'Welcome Mac Innon—delighted to see you, old fellow!' exclaimed Clavering, assuming the part of host.
'Aw—aw—how aw you?' added Snobleigh.
'Toodles, a chair for Mr. Mac Innon—wish you had come sooner—Sir Horace would have been happy to have seen you at dinner I am assured—hope you have dined, though? Ah—well, fill your glass—Toodles, champagne here, and pass the claret-jug.'