Wilkins had poured out a glass of port for both of them to drink with their cheese-straws.
Lord Loudwater finished his cheese-straws, took a long sip from his glass, rolled it lovingly over his tongue, gulped it down with a hideous grimace, banged down his fist on the table, and roared in a terrible, anguished voice: "It's corked! It's corked! It's that scoundrel Hutchings! This is his way of taking it out of me for sacking him.

He's done it on purpose, the scoundrel! Now I will gaol him! Hanged if I don't!" "I'll get another bottle, m'lord," said Wilkins, catching up the decanter, and hurrying towards the door.
"Get it! And be quick about it! And tell that scoundrel I'll gaol him!" cried Lord Loudwater.
Wilkins rushed from the room bearing in his hand the decanter of offending port; Holloway followed him to help.
Lady Loudwater sipped a little port from her glass.

She was rather inclined to take no one's word for anything which she could herself verify.

Then she took another sip.
Then she said; "Are you sure this wine's corked ?" Corked wine at the end of a really good meal is a bitter blow to any man, an exceedingly bitter blow to a man of Lord Loudwater's sensitiveness in such matters.
"Am I sure?
Hey?
Am I sure?
Yes! I am sure, you little fool!" he bellowed.

"What do you know about wine?
Talk about things you understand!" Lady Loudwater's face was twisted by a faint spasm of hate which left it flushed.