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"A celebrated German writer," lisped the modest Miss Macdonald. "I never heard his name," persevered the indefatigable Boreall; "how do you spell it?" "GOETHE," re-lisped modesty. "Oh! Goty!" exclaimed the querist. "I know him well: he wrote the Sorrows of Werter." "Did he indeed, sir?" asked Vivian, with the most innocent and inquiring face.
"I had reckoned upon two deaths, sir, when I entered the Hall, and finding, as I do, that the whole business has apparently gone off without any fatal accident, why, I think the circumstances bear me out in my expression." Mr. Boreall was one of those unfortunate men who always take things to the letter: he consequently looked amazed, and exclaimed, "Two deaths, sir?"
It is really delightful to see the oldest poet in Europe dilating on the brilliancy of a new star on the poetical horizon." This was uttered with a perfectly grave voice, and now the young nobleman blushed. "Who is Gewter?" asked Mr. Boreall, who possessed such a thirst for knowledge that he never allowed an opportunity to escape him of displaying his ignorance.
"Oh! don't you know that?" said Boreall, "and poor stuff it is!" "Lord Alhambra! I will take a glass of Johannisberg with you, if the Marquess' wines are in the state they should be: The Crescent warriors sipped their sherbet spiced, For Christian men the various wines were iced. I always think that those are two of the best lines in your Lordship's poem," said Vivian.
Have Boreall arrested; the chain of circumstantial evidence is very strong." "Baker!" said Vivian, turning to a servant, "go and inquire if Mr. Stapylton Toad dines at the Castle to-day." A flourish of trumpets announced the rise of the Marchioness of Carabas, and in a few minutes the most ornamental portion of the guests had disappeared.
"Allow me to give you some champagne, Miss," resumed Boreall, as he attacked the modest Miss Macdonald: "champagne, you know," continued he, with a smile of agonising courtesy, "is quite the lady's wine." "Cynthia Courtown," whispered Vivian with a sepulchral voice, "'tis all over with me: I have been thinking what would come next. This is too much: I am already dead.
Boreall; "well, I must confess, I cannot agree with you." "I should have been extremely surprised if you could. If you do not insult that man, Miss Courtown, in ten minutes I shall be no more. I have already a nervous fever." "May I have the honour of taking a glass of champagne with you, Mr. Grey?" said Boreall. "Mr. Grey, indeed!" muttered Vivian: "Sir, I never drink anything but brandy."
Boreall, a sharp-nosed and conceited-looking man, who, having got among a set whom he did not the least understand, was determined to take up Dr. Sly's quarrel, merely for the sake of conversation.
"You, I say, sir, may think it so, but I rather imagine that the ladies and gentlemen lower down can hardly think it a sensible arrangement;" and here Boreall looked as if he had done his duty, in giving a young man a proper reproof. Vivian glanced a look of annihilation.
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