dinners? Where the Duke of Wellington once trusted his aide-de-camp, he now relies on his butler, and the decisions of his cook are as important as the movements of his army.
In social life, to owe such a one a dinner is the most imperative of obligations—gambling debts always excepted. An Englishman talks of the Magna Charta and roast-beef in a breath; his own constitution and that of his country are indissolubly united. As a great orator once observed, "The security of your laws, the sanctity of your church, the bond of society, the cement of your religious, political, and moral obligations, nay, the actual existence of your country—its vital interests depend, gentlemen, on its dinners." (I quote from memory, and may be mistaken as to the form, but I am sure I have given the spirit of the speech.)
It was to attend one of these national institutions—a dinner on the opening of a canal—that Lord Mandeville set forth, with a mouthful of patriotism and public spirit; and Lady Mandeville, and Emily, still languid with recent illness, were left tête-à-tête.
Night came; and the wind and rain, which beat against the window, only added the advantage of contrast to the curtained, carpeted,
