"A very good idea," said Lorimer, sipping the Lacrima with evident approval--"Phil, I doubt if your brands on board the Eulalie are better than this."
"Hardly so good," replied Errington with some surprise, as he tasted the wine and noted its delicious flavor. "The minister must be a fine connoisseur. Are there many other families about here, Mr. Dyceworthy, who know how to choose their wines so well?"
Mr. Dyceworthy smiled with a dubious air.
"There is one other household that in the matter of choice liquids is almost profanely particular," he said. "But they are people who are ejected with good reason from respectable society, and,--it behooves me not to speak of their names."
"Oh, indeed!" said Errington, while a sudden and inexplicable thrill of indignation fired his blood and sent it in a wave of color up to his forehead--"May I ask--"
But he was interrupted by Lorimer, who, nudging him slyly on one side, muttered, "Keep cool, old fellow! You can't tell whether he's talking about the Güldmar folk! Be quiet--you don't want every one to know your little game."
Thus adjured, Philip swallowed a large gulp of wine, to keep down his feelings, and strove to appear interested in the habits and caprices of bees, a subject into which Mr. Dyceworthy had just inveigled Duprèz and Macfarlane.
"Come and see my bees," said the Reverend Charles almost pathetically. "They are emblems of ever-working and patient industry,--storing up honey for others to partake thereof."
"They wudna store it up at a', perhaps, if they knew that," observed Sandy significantly.
Mr. Dyceworthy positively shone all over with beneficence.
"They would store it up, sir; yes, they would, even if they knew! It is God's will that they should store it up; it is God's will that they should show an example of unselfishness, that they should flit from flower to flower sucking therefrom the sweetness to impart into strange palates unlike their own. It is a beautiful lesson; it teaches us who are the ministers of the Lord to likewise suck the sweetness from the flowers of the living gospel, and impart it gladly to the unbelievers who shall find it sweeter than the sweetest honey!"
And he shook his head piously several times, while the pores of his fat visage exuded holy oil. Duprèz sniggered secretly. Macfarlane looked preternaturally solemn.
"Come," repeated the reverend gentleman, with an inviting smile. "Come and see my bees,--also my strawberries! I shall be delighted to send a basket of the fruit to the yacht, if Sir Philip will permit me?"