"
Mr. Reginald consented with rapture. He had got a new puzzle. He could
play at it in a corner; all he wanted was to be able to stop Jane's
mouth, should she ever jeer him again. Reginald thus disposed of, Mr.
Bazalgette courted David to replenish his glass and sit round to the
fire. The fire was huge and glowing, the cut glass sparkled, and the
ruby wine glowed, and even the faces shone, and all invited genial
talk. Yet David, on the eve of his departure and of his fate,
oppressed with suspense and care, was out of the reach of those
genial, superficial influences. He could only just mutter a word of
assent here and there, then relapsed into his reverie, and eyed the
fire thoughtfully, as if his destiny lay there revealed. Mr.
Bazalgette, on the contrary, glowed more and more in manner as well as
face, and, like many of his countrymen, seemed to imbibe friendship
with each fresh glass of port.
At last, under the double influence of his real liking for David and
of the Englishman-thawing Portuguese decoction, he gave his favorite a
singular proof of friendship. It came about as follows. Observing that
he had all the talk to himself, he fixed his eyes with an expression
of paternal benevolence on his companion, and was silent in turn.
David looked up, as we all do when a voice ceases, and saw this mild
gaze dwelling on him.
"Dodd, my boy, you don't say a word; what is the matter?"
"I am very bad company, sir, that is the truth.
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