"Will you say grace, Brummell?" asked Moore.
"Say it yourself," drawled the Arbiter of Fashion, smiling lazily at his hostess.
"But, his Highness thinks me a graceless rogue," objected the poet, "so it would be an act of treason for me to prove him a liar."
"Well, then, I 'll say it meself," volunteered Sheridan, with a wink at Moore.
"Good man. Hush, now, every one."
Sheridan rose from his chair and leaning over took possession of the bread plate.
"Ah," said Moore, knowingly, "then it is to be 'Give us this day our daily bread,' eh, Sherry?"
"You are away off the scent, Tommy," responded the dramatist in a superior tone. "Nothing so conventional would be appropriate for this festive occasion."
"Do go on, Sherry," advised Brummell, "I am growing disgracefully hungry."
"Anything to oblige, Beau. See, friends,