I then, with some small misgiving, stole a look towards the
Colonel--a very handsome fellow, with all the ease and polish of a
soldier and a gentleman about him. "The devil, it cannot be, surely,"
for the black--eyed and black--haired pale face, seemed annoyingly
attentive to the militaire. At length this said officer addressed me,
"Captain Cringle, do me the honour to take wine." Mary started at the
Captain.
"She gazed, she redden'd like a rose, Syne pale as ony lily."
Aha, thought I, all right still. She trembled extremely, and her mother
at length noticed it, I saw; but all this while, B----was balancing a
land--crab on his silver fork, while, with a wine--glass in his other
claw, he was ogling me in some wonderment. I saw the awkwardness of the
affair, and seizing a bottle of catchup for one of sercial, I filled my
glass with such vehemence, that I spilt a great part of it; but even the
colour and flavour did not recover me; so, with a face like a northwest
moon, I swilled off the potion, and instantly fell back in my chair
"Poisoned! by all that is nonsensical--poisoned catchup oh Lord!" and
off I started to my bedroom, where, by dint of an ocean of hot water, I
got quit of the sauce, and clinching the whole with a caulker of brandy,
I returned to the dinner--table a good deal abashed, I will confess, but
endeavouring most emphatically all the while to laugh it off as a good
jest. But my Mary was flown; she had been ailing for some days, her
mother alleged, and she required rest.
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