the daintiest dishes, so that he was actually forced to turn his eyes away, not to be led into temptation.
Now for the life of him he could no longer withstand. With a desperate and beseeching glance at his wife, he helped himself to a wedge of pudding, weighing at least a pound and a half, and directly after, tossed off two brimming glasses of sherry, as if at once to deafen himself to the voice of conscience.
Peals of laughter and loud conversation now resounded on all sides. Only the peasants remained silent. They sat all the time timidly trying the mysterious dishes, as if they were dead rats, and sipping the wine like medicine. One of them whispered to his neighbour, who was looking despondently at a piece of pudding which continued to blaze on his plate—
"If we on'y had one o' mother's dumplins now. These here made-up dishes can't be good for country folk's insides."
Emanuel was placed about half way down the long table. He had not talked much during the meal, and his companion, who was entirely taken up with keeping an eye on her husband, had not helped him much. He was disgusted by this empty and artificial entertainment.
The conversation with the weaver still rang in his ears, and through the haze of the lights, and the steam in the room, he still saw the sunny
