During the chat the servant had placed before the host a half-dozen quart decanters filled with wine of various hues and depths of color.
"And now for the wine! We have been losing time," exclaimed their host.
As he spoke, the servant set on either side of the fire a brass-bound, painted bucket in which were a number of decanters—the reserve reinforcements to be used if the main army gave out. Meanwhile the desultory chat went on as the servant distributed the glasses. These were arranged in rather an odd fashion. In the center of the table was set a silver bowl of water. The notches in the rim received each the stem of an inverted glass. Before every guest a glass bowl, much like a modern finger-bowl, held also two wine-glasses. Thus there was to be a glass for each wine, or at need the means for rinsing a glass.
The talk had been more entertaining to the younger men and their host than to Wilmington. He had come for the purpose of tasting wines, and was somewhat annoyed at the delay.
"Dined with Starling last week," he said. "Never was more insulted in my life, sir. Had his after-dinner wine—all of it, sir—in pint decanters!"
"Not, really?" said Francis, with a seriousness by no means assumed. "In pints! You are quite sure you are correct?"
"Fact, sir."
"I—!" exclaimed Chestnut. "Pardon me; but I fail to see the insult."
"What! You, sir! Your father's son! Gentlemen do not serve wine in pints after dinner. They don't do it; and the wine was bad—sick, thick!"
"Ah, I see. I have been long enough away to have forgotten many things. As to these wines you all discuss so critically, I have tasted some of them of late, and they seemed to me much alike."