and now stood smiling,
with rather meaningless, if measureless, good nature upon the
invaders.

And Van Morris was all pose and _savoir faire_ once more. He might
have been examining Blanche on her progress in algebra, for all the
consciousness in his manner as he complimented Miss Wood on her
peculiarly deft management of that dangerous weapon, the pin. But
there was no little annoyance in the whispered aside to his friend:

"Don't drink any more to-night, Andy. _Don't!_"

"All right, Van; I promise," responded the other, with the most
beaming of smiles. "Tell you the truth, don't think I need it. Heat of
the room, you know--"

"And the second pint of _Chambertin_ at dinner," finished Morris, as
Miss Wood--the toilette and _her_ confidence both completed--slipped
her perfectly gloved hand into Andy's arm again.

Precisely, then, three sharp notes of the cornet cut through the
stillness under the flowers. It was followed by the indescribable
sound, made only by the rush of many female trains towards one spot.
Like the chronicled war-horse, Andy shook his mane at the first note;
Miss Wood nodded beamingly over her shoulder at the second; and the
pair were hastening off by the time the third died away.

Blanche showed no disposition to take the vacated seat.

"The German is forming," she said, "and I am engaged to that colt-like
Mr. Upton."

Only at the door of the conservatory she paused.

"Does Mr. Browne ever drink too much wine?" she asked abruptly.

Van never hesitated one second. He lied loyally. "Why, _never_, of
course," he deprecated, in the most natural tone. "With rare
exceptions. But what deucedly sharp eyes she has," he added, mentally,
as Mr. Upton informed them that "the bell had tapped," and took
Blanche off.

Almost at the same moment, a waiter rushed by with a wine-cooler and
glasses; and he heard the pompous butler direct:

"Set it by Mr. Browne's chair. He leads in _ler curtillyun!_"

Morris half started to countermand the order. Then he reconsidered and
leaned against the doorway.

"He can't mean to drink it, after his promise to me," he thought.
"Anyway, he might get something worse. Besides, I am not his guardian;
and," he added very slowly, a strange smile hovering about his lips,
"I can scarcely keep my own head to-night."

Somehow he, best dancer in town as he was, had no partner to-night.
The sight before him had no novelty; and Mr. Trotter Upton's vivacious
prancing somewhat