"My dear old friend," he said, catching up the hand he had dropped
and giving it a tighter grip than before, "this is a pleasure. How
it brings back our college days! We must have a glass of wine in
memory of the good old times. Come!"

And he moved toward the table. With an impulse she could not
restrain, Blanche drew back toward the door, pulling strongly on
Whitford's arm:

"Come, Ellis; I am faint with the heat of this room. Take me out,
please."

Whitford looked into her face, and saw that it had grown suddenly
pale. If his perceptions had not been obscured by drink, he would
have taken her out instantly. But his mind was not clear.

"Just a moment, until I can get you a glass of wine," he said,
turning hastily from her. Lovering was filling three glasses as he
reached the table. Seizing one of them, he went back quickly to
Blanche; but she waved her hand, saying: "No, no, Ellis; it isn't
wine that I need, only cooler air."

"Don't be foolish," replied Whitford, with visible impatience. "Take
a few sips of wine, and you will feel better."

Lovering, with a glass in each hand, now joined them. He saw the
change in Blanche's face, and having already observed the
exhilarated condition of Whitford, understood its meaning. Handing
the latter one of the glasses, he said: