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e, but Eloquent condoned this weakness in her case, she drank so little. Everyone drank champagne except Sir George, who preferred whisky, and Eloquent himself, who drank Apollinaris.
"Do you suffer from rheumatism?" Mary asked innocently. "Do you think it would hurt you once in a way?"
"I am not in the least rheumatic," Eloquent protested, "but I have never tasted anything intoxicating."
"Then you don't know whether you'd like it or not. Why not try some and see?" Mary suggested hospitably.
Eloquent shook his head. "Better not," he said, "you don't know what effect it might have on me."
He ate whatever was put before him, wholly unaware of its nature, and in spite of Mary's efforts to keep the conversational ball rolling gaily, he was very silent.
The dream had got him again, for he knew this room with the dark oak panelling and great old portraits of departed Ffolliots, some of them with eyes that followed you. He knew the room, but as he knew it, the long narrow table, like the table in a refectory, was bare and polished and empty; or with a little cloth laid just at one end for old Mr Ffolliot.
What did they think of it now, these solemn pictured people?--this long, narrow strip of brilliant light and flowers and sparkling glass and silver, surrounded by well-dressed cheerful persons, all, apparently, laughing and talking at the same time.
They had reached dessert, and he was handing Mary a dish of sweets; she took four. "Do take some," she whispered, "take lots, and what you don't want give to me; you can put them in my bridge-bag under the table, I want them for the children. I promised Ger."
Bewildered, but only too happy to do anything she asked him, Eloquent helped himself largely.
"Now," Mary whispered, holding a little white satin bag open under the table, "and if they come round again, take some more."
"It was my grandfather began it," she explained; "he used always to save sweets for us when we stayed with him, and now it's a rule--if we dine downstairs--if there are any--there aren't always, you know--and Fusby's so stingy, if there are any left he takes them and locks them up in a box till next time. You watch Grantly, he's got some too, but he hasn't got anywhere to put them, like me. I must go round behind him when mother collects eyes, then I'll nip up to Ger, for he'll never go to sleep till I've been . . ."
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