Sylvia's Lovers

Before long one of the lads was seized with a fit of admiration for

Toby--the name of the old gentleman who contained liquor--and went

up to the tray for a closer inspection. He was speedily followed by

other amateurs of curious earthenware; and by-and-by Mr. Brunton (who

had been charged by his mother-in-law with the due supplying of

liquor--by his father-in-law that every man should have his fill,

and by his wife and her sisters that no one should have too much, at

any rate at the beginning of the evening,) thought fit to carry out

Toby to be replenished; and a faster spirit of enjoyment and mirth

began to reign in the room.

Kinraid was too well seasoned to care what amount of liquor he

drank; Philip had what was called a weak head, and disliked muddling

himself with drink because of the immediate consequence of intense

feelings of irritability, and the more distant one of a racking

headache next day; so both these two preserved very much the same

demeanour they had held at the beginning of the evening.

Sylvia was by all acknowledged and treated as the belle. When they

played at blind-man's-buff go where she would, she was always

caught; she was called out repeatedly to do what was required in any

game, as if all had a pleasure in seeing her light figure and deft

ways. She was sufficiently pleased with this to have got over her

shyness with all except Charley. When others paid her their rustic

compliments she tossed her head, and made her little saucy

repartees; but when he said something low and flattering, it was too

honey-sweet to her heart to be thrown off thus. And, somehow, the

more she yielded to this fascination the more she avoided Philip. He

did not speak flatteringly--he did not pay compliments--he watched

her with discontented, longing eyes, and grew more inclined every

moment, as he remembered his anticipation of a happy evening, to cry

out in his heart vanitas vanitatum.

And now came crying the forfeits. Molly Brunton knelt down, her face

buried in her mother's lap; the latter took out the forfeits one by

one, and as she held them up, said the accustomed formula,-'A fine thing and a very fine thing, what must he (or she) do who

owns this thing.' One or two had been told to kneel to the prettiest, bow to the

wittiest, and kiss those they loved best; others had had to bite an

inch off the poker, or such plays upon words. And now came Sylvia's

pretty new ribbon that Philip had given her (he almost longed to

snatch it out of Mrs. Corney's hands and burn it before all their

faces, so annoyed was he with the whole affair.) 'A fine thing and a very fine thing--a most particular fine

thing--choose how she came by it. What must she do as owns this

thing?' 'She must blow out t' candle and kiss t' candlestick.' In one instant Kinraid had hold of the only candle within reach, all

the others had been put up high on inaccessible shelves and other

places. Sylvia went up and blew out the candle, and before the

sudden partial darkness was over he had taken the candle into his

fingers, and, according to the traditional meaning of the words, was

in the place of the candlestick, and as such was to be kissed. Every

one laughed at innocent Sylvia's face as the meaning of her penance

came into it, every one but Philip, who almost choked.