"I feel no need of appealing to the cool reflecting morning hours."
"Of course you do not feel it now; that, too, will come with the sober morning."
L'Isle, a good deal nettled, was about to reply, when she exclaimed, "Why, you have been smoking!"
"No, I have only been smoked."
"That is just as unpleasant," she said, pushing her chair farther off. "The Portuguese snuff-taking is offensive enough, but this Spanish habit of smoking perpetually is intolerable. Wherever our officers go they pick up the small vices of the country, without abandoning any of their own. Here they add smoking to their native wine-bibbing propensities. They spoil a man utterly."
"Not utterly," said L'Isle; "there is Warren now, a capital fellow, a delightful companion, and an inveterate smoker."
"For that I cannot abide him," said Lady Mabel, out of humor with everybody.
"There is your friend, Colonel Bradshawe, who sets no little store by his wine and cigar."
"He is intolerable with them, and would be a bore without them."
"But my Lord himself smokes. Will you not tolerate him?"