Pawkins’s house was thoroughly old-fashioned in all things, and the Pawkins of that day himself stood behind the earl’s elbow when the dinner began, and himself removed the cover from the soup tureen.  Lord De Guest did not require much personal attention, but he would have felt annoyed if this hadn’t been done.  As it was he had a civil word to say to Pawkins about the fat cattle, thereby showing that he did not mistake Pawkins for one of the waiters.  Pawkins then took his lordship’s orders about the wine and retired.

“He keeps up the old house pretty well,” said the earl to his brother-in-law.  “It isn’t like what it was thirty years ago, but then everything of that sort has got worse and worse.”

“I suppose it has,” said the colonel.

“I remember when old Pawkins had as good a glass of port as I’ve got at home,—­or nearly.  They can’t get it now, you know.”

“I never drink port,” said the colonel.  “I seldom take anything after dinner, except a little negus.”

His brother-in-law said nothing, but made a most eloquent grimace as he turned his face towards his soup-plate.  Eames saw it, and could hardly refrain from laughing.  When, at half-past nine o’clock, the colonel retired from the room, the earl, as the door was closed, threw up his hands, and uttered the one word “negus!” Then Eames took heart of grace and had his laughter out.

The dinner was very dull, and before the colonel went to bed Johnny regretted that he had been induced to dine at Pawkins’s.  It might be a very fine thing to be asked to dinner with an earl; and John Eames had perhaps received at his office some little accession of dignity from the circumstance, of which he had been not unpleasantly aware; but, as he sat at the table, on which there were four or five apples and a plate of dried nuts, looking at the earl, as he endeavoured to keep his eyes open, and at the colonel, to whom it seemed absolutely a matter of indifference whether his companions were asleep or awake, he confessed to himself that the price he was paying was almost too dear.  Mrs Roper’s tea-table was not pleasant to him, but even that would have been preferable to the black dinginess of Pawkins’s mahogany, with the company of two tired old men, with whom he seemed to have no mutual subject of conversation.  Once or twice he tried a word with the colonel, for the colonel sat with his eyes open looking at the fire.  But he was answered with monosyllables, and it was evident to him that the colonel did not wish to talk.  To sit still, with his hands closed over each other on his lap, was work enough for Colonel Dale during his after-dinner hours.

But the earl knew what was going on.  During that terrible conflict between him and his slumber, in which the drowsy god fairly vanquished him for some twenty minutes, his conscience was always accusing him of treating his guests badly.  He was very angry with himself, and tried to arouse himself and talk.  But his brother-in-law would not help him in his efforts; and even Eames was not bright in rendering him assistance.  Then for twenty minutes he slept soundly, and at the end of that he woke himself with one of his own snorts.  “By George!” he said, jumping up and standing on the rug, “we’ll have some coffee”; and after that he did not sleep any more.