Ripton had resumed his seat by the table and his embrace of the claret.  Clear ideas of satisfaction had left him and resolved to a boiling geysir of indistinguishable transports.  He bubbled, and waggled, and nodded amicably to nothing, and successfully, though not without effort, preserved his uppermost member from the seductions of the nymph, Gravitation, who was on the look-out for his whole length shortly.

“Ha! ha!” he shouted, about a minute after Mrs. Berry had spoken, and almost abandoned himself to the nymph on the spot.  Mrs. Berry’s words had just reached his wits.

“Why do you laugh, young man?” she inquired, familiar and motherly on account of his condition.

Ripton laughed louder, and caught his chest on the edge of the table and his nose on a chicken.  “That’s goo’!” he said, recovering, and rocking under Mrs. Berry’s eyes.  “No friend!”

“I did not say, no friend,” she remarked.  “I said, no one; meanin’, I know not where for to send it to.”

Ripton’s response to this was:  You put a Griffin on that cake.  Wheatsheaves each side.”

“His crest?” Mrs. Berry said sweetly.

“Oldest baronetcy ’n England!” waved Ripton.

“Yes?” Mrs. Berry encouraged him on.

“You think he’s Richards.  We’re oblige’ be very close.  And she’s the most lovely!—­If I hear man say thing ’gainst her.”

“You needn’t for to cry over her, young man,” said Mrs. Berry.  “I wanted for to drink their right healths by their right names, and then go about my day’s work, and I do hope you won’t keep me.”

Ripton stood bolt upright at her words.

“You do?” he said, and filling a bumper he with cheerfully vinous articulation and glibness of tongue proposed the health of Richard and Lucy Feverel, of Raynham Abbey! and that mankind should not require an expeditious example of the way to accept the inspiring toast, he drained his bumper at a gulp.  It finished him.  The farthing rushlight of his reason leapt and expired.  He tumbled to the sofa and there stretched.

Some minutes subsequent to Ripton’s signalization of his devotion to the bridal pair, Mrs. Berry’s maid entered the room to say that a gentleman was inquiring below after the young gentleman who had departed, and found her mistress with a tottering wineglass in her hand, exhibiting every symptom of unconsoled hysterics.  Her mouth gaped, as if the fell creditor had her by the swallow.  She ejaculated with horrible exultation that she had been and done it, as her disastrous aspect seemed to testify, and her evident, but inexplicable, access of misery induced the sympathetic maid to tender those caressing words that were all Mrs. Berry wanted to go off into the self-caressing fit without delay; and she had already given the preluding demoniac ironic outburst, when the maid called heaven to witness that the gentleman would hear her; upon which Mrs. Berry violently controlled her bosom, and ordered that he should be shown upstairs instantly to see her the wretch she was.  She repeated the injunction.