"Empty stomach."
"Ah, now I begin to see: a Turkish bath on an empty stomach. Yes, yes; very good. But, perhaps, if we tried my plan and yours together, we should arrive at the ideal appetite. I think a Christmas feast composed of guests each with such an appetite would be nearly the greatest pleasure we can know. Well, well, madam, let us think of it (The bell? Yes, quite through)," and, saying this last to the tinkling of the little silver bell, Mr. Grapewine got up from the table, undid the napkin from his neck, and yawned both his arms quite over his fat, rosy head as he trode towards the door. Mrs. Grapewine's step was like her conversation,—sharp and decisive. She took her husband's arm in an angular manner and led him, still yawning, to the sofa in the library, where she set herself over against him, ready to hear his plans.
"Let us have a Christmas banquet, my dear," Mr. Grapewine steadily rubbed his eyes and yawned.
"Who?" said Mrs. Grapewine.
"Why, Totty and his wife, and Colonel Killiam, and—and Dr. Tuggle and lady, and old Mrs. Gildenfenny and—and——" Mr. Grapewine snored.
"Who?" said Mrs. Grapewine, somewhat loudly.
—"And—and—Pill."
"Who's Pill?" said she.
"Why—oh, I mean your poor cousin Pillet. It would be a kindness to him, you know."
"Yes," said she.