“Memory’s gone,” said Mr. Sharp, shaking his head at him.  “Clean gone.  Don’t you remember—­”

“No!” roared Mr. Culpepper.

Mr. Sharp sat blinking at him, but his misgivings vanished before the glances of admiring devotion which Miss Garland was sending in his direction.  He construed them rightly not only as a reward, but as an incentive to further efforts.  In the midst of an impressive silence Mrs. Culpepper collected the plates and, producing a dish of fruit from the sideboard, placed it upon the table.

“Help yourself, Mr. Sharp,” she said, pushing the bottle of port towards him.

Mr. Sharp complied, having first, after several refusals, put a little into the ladies’ glasses, and a lot on the tablecloth near Mr. Culpepper.  Then, after a satisfying sip or two, he rose with a bland smile and announced his intention of making a speech.

“But you’ve made one,” said his host, in tones of fierce expostulation.

“That—­that was las’ night,” said Mr. Sharp.  “This is to-night—­your birthday.”

“Well, we don’t want any more,” said Mr. Culpepper.

Mr. Sharp hesitated.  “It’s only his fun,” he said, looking round and raising his glass.  “He’s afraid I’m going to praise him up—­praise him up.  Here’s to my old friend, Mr. Culpepper:  one of the best.  We all have our—­faults, and he has his—­has his.  Where was I?”

“Sit down,” growled Mr. Culpepper.

“Talking about my husband’s faults,” said his wife.

“So I was,” said Mr. Sharp, putting his hand to his brow.  “Don’t be alarm’,” he continued, turning to his host; “nothing to be alarm’ about.  I’m not going to talk about ’em.  Not so silly as that, I hope.  I don’t want spoil your life.”

“Sit down,” repeated Mr. Culpepper.

“You’re very anxious he should sit down,” said his wife, sharply.

“No, I’m not,” said Mr. Culpepper; “only he’s talking nonsense.”

Mr. Sharp, still on his legs, took another sip of port and, avoiding the eye of Mr. Culpepper, which was showing signs of incipient inflammation, looked for encouragement to Miss Garland.

“He’s a man we all look up to and respect,” he continued.  “If he does go off to London every now and then on business, that’s his lookout.  My idea is he always ought to take Mrs. Culpepper with him.

“He’d have pleasure of her company and, same time, he’d be money in pocket by it.  And why shouldn’t she go to music-halls sometimes?  Why shouldn’t she—­”

“You get off home,” said the purple Mr. Culpepper, rising and hammering the table with his fist.  “Get off home; and if you so much as show your face inside this ’ouse again there’ll be trouble.  Go on.  Out you go!”

“Home?” repeated Mr. Sharp, sitting down suddenly.  “Won’t go home till morning.”

“Oh, we’ll soon see about that,” said Mr. Culpepper, taking him by the shoulders.  “Come on, now.”