An hour later the two had finished dinner, and were waiting for coffee to be brought. Harry, after finishing his wine, had lit a cigarette, which had been the occasion of some playful strictures from his uncle, who still held his unkindled in his soft, plump fingers.
"One sip, only one sip of coffee, first, Harry," he said. "It is almost wicked to light your cigarette till you have had one sip of coffee. That is the psychological moment. Ah, that dazzling thing! How it sparkles! It was a good idea of yours to have it on the table, Harry. It makes a noonday in the room. How the Luck welcomes you home, my dear boy! But though I can not sparkle like that, not less do I welcome you."
Indeed, that winking splendour in the centre of the table was enough to strike sight into blind eyeballs. The candles that lit the table, though shaded from the eye of the diner, poured their unobtruded rays on to it from fifty angles, and each stone glowed with an inward and ever-varying light. The slightest movement of the head was sufficient to turn the blue lights of the diamonds into an incandescent red; again, a movement, and the burning danger signals were changed to a living green. The pearls shone with a steady lustre, like moons through mist; but even the sober emeralds caught something of the madness of the diamond-studded handles, and glowed with colours not their own. The thing had fascinated Harry all dinner time, and the spell seemed to grow, for suddenly he filled his glass again.
"The Luck," he said; "I drink to the Luck," and he put down an empty glass.
An affectionate remonstrance with his folly was on Mr. Francis's lips, when the servants entered with coffee. Behind the footman, who carried it, walked a man with liqueurs, whom Harry could not remember having seen before. He looked at him a moment, wondering who he was, when he recollected that his uncle had spoken to him about his own man, whom he proposed should wait on him at Vail. Last came Templeton, carrying the leather case of the Luck.
Harry took coffee and liqueur, and had another look at his uncle's valet. The man wore the immovable mask of the well-trained servant; he was no more than a machine for handing things.