Externally, Mr. Grewgious showed no signs of being mellowed by these glowing vintages. Instead of his drinking them, they might have been poured over him in his high-dried snuff form, and run to waste, for any lights and shades they caused to flicker over his face. Neither was his manner influenced. But, in his wooden way, he had observant eyes for Edwin; and when at the end of dinner, he motioned Edwin back to his own easy-chair in the fireside corner, and Edwin sank luxuriously into it after very brief remonstrance, Mr. Grewgious, as he turned his seat round towards the fire too, and smoothed his head and face, might have been seen looking at his visitor between his smoothing fingers.
“Bazzard!” said Mr. Grewgious, suddenly turning to him.
“I follow you, sir,” returned Bazzard; who had done his work of consuming meat and drink in a workmanlike manner, though mostly in speechlessness.
“I drink to you, Bazzard; Mr. Edwin, success to Mr. Bazzard!”
“Success