It was the one evening in the year when, in the interests of his
guests, he could be relied upon to remain absolutely sober to the last
moment; a state of affairs which doubtless had its drawbacks, seeing
that it made him, in longer conversational efforts, rather more
abstruse and unintelligible than usual--"blind sober," as Don Francesco
once said. Even sobriety was forgiven him. He took the precaution, of
course, to keep the house locked and to replace his ordinary services
of plate by Elkington; people being pardonably fond of carrying away
memories of so enjoyable an evening. Bottles, plates, and glasses were
smashed by the dozen. He liked to see them smashed. It proved that
everybody was having a good time.
A person unacquainted with Keith's nature could never have guessed what
a sacrifice this entertainment was to him. He was an egoist, a
solitary, in his pleasures; he used to contend that no garden on earth,
however spacious, was large enough for more than one man. And this
little Nepenthe domain, though he saw it for only a few weeks in the
year, was the apple of his eye.
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