"It is like old times, isn't it?" she said. "And it does seem good. You
don't mind, do you,--for ten minutes?"

"Ten minutes?" he echoed dully.

She knew then, as she had indeed been aware from the first, that he was
drunk and that only by the most painful effort, could he command his
scattered wits at all. It made her want to cry that he should be trying
so hard. She must not cry. That would be the final outrage. She must be
very simple and clear. She must--_must_ contrive to make him understand.

"Will you listen to me, dear, and do exactly what I ask you to? I want
you to go back to your people and forget that you have seen me at all."

"I am going to take you home--out of this," he said laboriously.

"I'm going home soon, but not with you. I want you to go back to--to the
girl you brought here. No, dear, listen. This is the only reason I sent
for you. To tell you that I wasn't going to try to scold you. I don't
mind a bit. I want to tell you that, so that when you come back to me
to-morrow or next day or whenever your party is quite over, you won't
feel that you have anything to try to explain or apologize for. Now take
me back to my place and then go on to yours."

"I won't take you back to him," he said doggedly. "What do you think I
am? I'm drunk, but not enough for that. I am going to take you home."

She tried to laugh but in spite of herself it was more like a sob.