Horace Bunsome, a
company promoter from the city, had been even more assiduous in his
attentions to a particular brand of champagne.
Burton had been conscious of a sense of drifting. The more human side
of him was paramount. The dinner was perfect; the long, low
dining-room, with its bowls of flowers and quaint decorations,
delightful; the wine and food the best of their sort. Edith, looking
like an exquisite picture, was sitting by his side. After all, if the
end of things were to come this way, what did it matter? She had no
eyes for any one else, her fingers had touched his more than once. The
complete joy of living was in his pulses. He, too, had yielded to the
general spirit.
Edith left them late and reluctantly. Then the professor raised his
glass. There was an unaccustomed color in his parchment-white cheeks.
His spectacles were sitting at a new angle, his black tie had wandered
from its usual precise place around to the side of his neck.
"Let us drink," he exclaimed, "to the new company! To the new Mind
Food, to the new scientific diet of the coming century! Let us drink to
ourselves, the pioneers of this wonderful discovery, the manufacturers
and owners-to-be of the new food, the first of its kind created and
designed to satisfy the moral appetite.
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