CHAPTER V.
At dinner young Salter was vastly liberal of his father's wine, and called loud and often for Champaigne, sparkling bumpers of which had shortly the effect of so raising the spirits of his guests, that they began their usual merciless quizzing of the Marquis, as they styled their younger host; for, holding as they did, all the family in sovereign contempt, the presence of father and sisters was no sort of check. Indeed they rather seemed to expect that their easy familiarity would be received as a compliment by the whole domestic circle; nor were they far wrong in their calculations. Mr. Salter, honest man, thought that, as he had been at a great expense about his son's education and travels to foreign parts, it was no wonder that his said son should on his return home create a very great sensation. As for the young ladies, they were particularly well pleased; for John's getting so intimate with men of fashion must, they thought, lead to their receiving more or less attention.
"You import the silk for your own waistcoats, I suppose, Salter?" observed Sir William Orm, "there is nothing like it to be had in this country."
"I heard a lady—a lady of title too—say, no later than last night," chimed in Geoffery, "that she would give anything for a pair of slippers made out of one of the Marquis's waistcoats, they were all so perfectly beautiful."
"She don't mean to go barefooted till she gets them, I hope," replied the polite object of this delicate compliment.
"I suspect," said Sir William, "that it is the Marquis's own beauty which the lady has so associated with the patterns of the silks he wears that she knows not how to separate the ideas."
"Salter is certainly a fortunate fellow," rejoined Geoffery, "the ladies all admire him."
"Confess the truth now, Marquis," cried Sir William; "in round numbers at home and abroad, how many hearts do you think you have broken in your time?"
"I know better than to kiss and tell," answered young Salter conceitedly.
"That chain," said Geoffery, "which you wear in such graceful festoons, Marquis, must be either Venetian or Maltese, the workmanship is so exquisite. By-the-by, there was a lady last night admiring that too, and wishing so much you would make her a present of it."