Wilkins had his glass
replenished. And here, again, Mr. Corbet drew his conclusions, from the
silent way in which, without a word or a sign from his master, Fletcher
gave him more wine continually--wine that was drained off at once.
"Six glasses of sherry before dessert," thought Mr. Corbet to himself.
"Bad habit--no wonder Ellinor looks grave." And when the gentlemen were
left alone, Mr. Wilkins helped himself even still more freely; yet
without the slightest effect on the clearness and brilliancy of his
conversation. He had always talked well and racily, that Ralph knew, and
in this power he now recognised a temptation to which he feared that his
future father-in-law had succumbed. And yet, while he perceived that
this gift led into temptation, he coveted it for himself; for he was
perfectly aware that this fluency, this happy choice of epithets, was the
one thing he should fail in when he began to enter into the more active
career of his profession. But after some time spent in listening, and
admiring, with this little feeling of envy lurking in the background, Mr.
Corbet became aware of Mr. Wilkins's increasing confusion of ideas, and
rather unnatural merriment; and, with a sudden revulsion from admiration
to disgust, he rose up to go into the library, where Ellinor and Miss
Monro were sitting. Mr. Wilkins accompanied him, laughing and talking
somewhat loudly.
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