Mrs.Mountain was fain to bustle away with her keys to the sacred vault where the Colonel's particular Bordeaux lay, surviving its master, who, too, had long passed underground.

As they went on their journey, Mrs.Mountain asked whether any of the gentlemen had had too much?
Nathan thought Mister Broadbent was tipsy--he always tipsy; be then thought the General gentleman was tipsy; and he thought Master George was a lilly drunk.
"Master George!" cries Mrs.Mountain: "why, he will sit for days without touching a drop." Nevertheless, Nathan persisted in his notion that Master George was a lilly drunk.

He was always filling his glass, he had talked, he had sung, he had cut jokes, especially against Mr.Washington, which made Mr.Washington quite red and angry, Nathan said.

"Well, well!" Mrs.
Mountain cried eagerly; "it was right a gentleman should make himself merry in good company, and pass the bottle along with his friends." And she trotted to the particular Bordeaux cellar with only the more alacrity.
The tone of freedom and almost impertinence which young George Esmond had adopted of late days towards Mr.Washington had very deeply vexed and annoyed that gentleman.

There was scarce half a dozen years' difference of age between him and the Castlewood twins;--but Mr.
Washington had always been remarked for a discretion and sobriety much beyond his time of life, whilst the boys of Castlewood seemed younger than theirs.