"Probably your man is taking it round to the back in order to put it under cover. Hark! it has started to rain."
To me, however, the sound, growing fainter, was very much as though Bennett had driven the car away.
The wines which Henry served so quietly and sedately were of the best. But both my host and myself drank little.
Sandford was telling me of the strange romance concerning his sister Ellen and young Bingham—a man who had come into eight thousand a year from his uncle, and only a few days later had met with an accident in Swindon, having been knocked down by a train at a level-crossing.
Presently, after dessert, our conversation ran upon ports and their vintages, when suddenly my host remarked:
"I don't know whether you are a connoisseur of brandies, but I happen to have a couple of rather rare vintages. Let's try them."
I confessed I knew but little about brandies.
"Then I'll teach you how to test them in future," he laughed, adding, "Henry, bring up those three old cognacs, a bottle of ordinary brandy, and some liqueur-glasses."
In a few minutes a dozen little glasses made their appearance on a tray, together with four bottles of brandy, three unlabelled, while the fourth bore the label of a well-known brand.
"It is not generally known, I think, that one cannot test brandy with any degree of accuracy by the palate," he said, removing his cigar.