maidens, whose glad voices filled the air of my drawing-rooms.

I tried to console myself by the argument that I was only doing as
the rest did--following a social custom; and that society was
responsible--not the individual. But this did not lift the weight of
concern and self-condemnation that so heavily oppressed me.

At last word came that all was ready in the supper-room. The hour
was eleven. Our guests passed in to where smoking viands, rich
confectionery and exhilarating draughts awaited them. We had
prepared a liberal entertainment, a costly feast of all available
delicacies. Almost the first sound that greeted my ears after
entering the supper-room was the "pop" of a champagne cork. I looked
in the direction from whence it came, and saw a bottle in the hands
of Albert Martindale. A little back from the young man stood his
mother. Our eyes met. Oh, the pain and reproach in the glance of my
friend! I could not bear it, but turned my face away.

I neither ate nor drank anything. The most tempting dish had no
allurement for my palate, and I shivered at the thought of tasting
wine. I was strangely and unnaturally disturbed; yet forced to
commend myself and be affable and smiling to our guests.

"Observe Mrs. Gordon," I heard a lady near me say in a low voice to
her companion.

"What of her?" was returned.

"Follow the direction of her eyes."