Supper was announced, and the room emptied fast, whilst he remained motionless leaning on the E O table. He was roused by Mrs. Luttridge saying, as she passed, “Don’t you sup to-night, Mr. Hervey?”—Vincent looked up, and saw Clarence Hervey opposite to him. His countenance instantly changed, and the lightning of anger flashed through the gloom of despair: he uttered not a syllable; but his looks said, “How is this, sir? Here again to-night to watch me?—to enjoy my ruin?—to be ready to carry the first news of it to Belinda?”
At this last thought, Vincent struck his closed hand with violence against his forehead; and rushing by Mr. Hervey, who in vain attempted to speak to him, he pressed into the midst of the crowd on the stairs, and let himself be carried along with them into the supper-room. At supper he took his usual seat between Mrs. Luttridge and the fair Annabella; and, as if determined to brave the observing eyes of Clarence Hervey, who was at the same table, he affected extravagant gaiety; he ate, drank, talked, and laughed, more than any of the company. Toward the end of the supper, his dog, who was an inmate at Mrs. Luttridge’s, licked his hand to put him in mind that he had given him nothing to eat.
“Drink, Juba!—drink, and never have done, boy!” cried Vincent, holding a bumper of wine to the dog’s mouth; “he’s the only dog I ever saw taste wine.” Then snatching up some of the flowers, which ornamented the table, he swore that Juba should henceforward be called Anacreon, and that he deserved to be crowned with roses by the hand of beauty. The fair Annabella instantly took a hothouse rose from her bosom, and assisted in making the garland, with which she crowned the new Anacreon. Insensible to his honours, the dog, who was extremely hungry, turned suddenly to Mrs. Luttridge, by whom he had, till this night, regularly been fed with the choicest morsels, and lifting up his huge paw, laid it, as he had been wont to do, upon her arm. She shook it off: he, knowing nothing of the change in his master’s affairs, laid the paw again upon her arm; and with that familiarity to which he had long been encouraged, raised his head almost close to the lady’s cheek.
“Down, Juba!—down, sir, down!” cried Mrs. Luttridge, in a sharp voice.
“Down, Juba!—down, sir!” repeated Mr. Vincent, in a tone of bitter feeling, all his assumed gaiety forsaking him at this instant: “Down, Juba!—down, sir, down!” as low as your master, thought he; and pushing back his chair, he rose from table, and precipitately left the room.
Little notice was taken of his retreat; the chairs closed in; and the gap which his vacant place left was visible but for a moment: the company were as gay as before; the fair Annabella smiled with a grace as attractive; and Mrs. Luttridge exulted in the success of her schemes—whilst her victim was in the agonies of despair.
Clarence Hervey, who had watched every change of Vincent’s countenance, saw the agony of soul with which he rose from the table, and quitted the room: he suspected his purpose, and followed him immediately; but Mr. Vincent had got out of the house before he could overtake him; which way he was gone no one could tell, for no one had seen him; the only information he could gain was, that he might possibly be heard of at Nerot’s Hotel, or at Governor Montford’s, in Portland-place. The hotel was but a few yards from Mrs. Luttridge’s. Clarence went there directly. He asked for Mr. Vincent. One of the waiters said, that he was not yet come in; but another called out, “Mr. Vincent, sir, did you say? I have just shown him up to his room.”
“Which is the room?—I must see him instantly,” cried Hervey.
“Not to-night—you can’t see him now, sir. Mr. Vincent won’t let you in, I can assure you, sir. I went up myself three minutes ago, with some letters, that came whilst he was away, but he would not let me in. I heard him double-lock the door, and he swore terribly. I can’t go up again at this time o’night—for my life I dare not, sir.”
“Where is his own man?—Has Mr. Vincent any servant here?—Mr. Vincent’s man!” cried Clarence; “let me see him!”