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Mr. White
agreed, adding that it did one good to get a mouthful of drinkable fizz
after Parker's poison.
"Ah, but you ought to try the punch."
"Come on then," said White.
They moved away and soon stumbled upon a cluster of bibulous mortals in
their element. Miss Wilberforce was there. She liked to linger near the
fountain-head; the fountain-head, on this occasion, being a cyclopean
bowl of iced punch. The lady was in grand condition; festive, playful,
positively flirtatious. She nibbled, between her libations, at a
savoury biscuit (she hated solid food, as a rule) in order, she said,
to staunch her thirst; she told everybody that it was her birthday.
Yes, her birthday! In fact, she was quite a different creature from the
bashful visitor at the Duchess's entertainment; she was hardly shy at
all.
"Punch and moonlight!" she was saying. "It's all as right as
rain--birthday or no birthday."
Miss Wilberforce had about forty birthdays in the year, each of them
due to be worthily celebrated like this one.


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