'bouquet.' They value their liquor in proportion to the quickness of the 'kick.' 'I can let the stuff alone,' they say, 'but when it speaks to me, I want it to speak with some authority.'"
"The first really sensible thing you've said this evening," said the novelist.
I was tempted to mention his perfectly callous consumption of Oliver's choice Spanish wine as a case in point; but I restrained myself and said:—
"A Frenchman sits down at a table on the boulevard with a single small glass of light wine; and sips, and rolls it under his tongue; and sips, and studies a cloud in the sky; and sips, and holds the glass up to the light; and sips, and looks at the river, and quotes a couple of verses of Ronsard; and sips, and considers what he was doing in April a year ago; and lifts the glass, and puts it down, and counts his change; and so on for half an hour or an hour; while the Yankee traveler at the next table selects a bottle of the most expensive wine on the list, gulps it down like ice-water, and sighs for a good American cocktail. We were born whiskey-drinkers, high and low, men and women."
"I adore wine, but I abominate the taste of whiskey," said Cornelia.
