While
the last of the fogs went wherever fogs go to when there is no wind...Sir
Herbert Livewright [fresh back to London from a vacation in the South of
France] remained in his library [with] a fire burning briskly on the open
hearth, exercising his brain....When...his butler came quietly into this...atmosphere
and announced that luncheon was served, Sir Herbert...pushed his little table
away and rose to his feet and...washed his...hands;...and then Sir Herbert
Livewright went through into his dining room, and consumed, with every
appearance of relish,
a
little something of egg,
and
some roast chicken with every kind of appurtenance,
including
salad,
and
a large portion of a distinctly heady trifle,
and
some biscuits
and
some celery
and
some cheese.
And
during this repast Sir Herbert Livewright also drank
some
exceedingly good still Moselle,
and
a cup of excellent coffee,
and
a noggin of admirable cognac.