"My dear, dear mother," returned the young man, exhibiting much
distress, "you and others exaggerated what you saw. I might have
been a trifle gay, and who is not after a glass or two of champagne?
I was no gayer than the rest. When young people get together, and
one spurs another on they are apt to grow a little wild. But to call
high spirits, even noisy high spirits, intoxication is unjust. You
must not be too hard on me, mother, nor let your care for your son
lead you into needless apprehensions. I am in no danger here. Set
your heart at rest on that score."

But this was impossible. Mrs. Whitford knew there was danger, and
that of the gravest character. Two years before, her son had come
home from college, where he had graduated with all the honors her
heart could desire, a pure, high-toned young man, possessing talents
of no common order. His father wished him to study law; and as his
own inclinations led in that direction, he went into the office of
one of the best practitioners in the city, and studied for his
profession with the same thoroughness that had distinguished him
while in college. He had just been admitted to the bar.

For the first year after his return home Mrs. Whitford saw nothing
in her son to awaken uneasiness. His cultivated tastes and love of
intellectual things held him above the enervating influences of the
social life into which he was becoming more and more drawn. Her
first feeling of uneasiness came when, at a large party given by one
of her most intimate friends, she heard his voice ring out suddenly
in the supper-room. Looking down the table, she saw him with a glass
of champagne in his hand, which he was flourishing about in rather
an excited way. There was a gay group of young girls around him, who