"No one will come here," she said impatiently. "That is the 'Elisir d'Amor' waltz—no one will miss us. Go quickly, Earle."
He bent down and kissed the pale face, then he went quickly to the buffet, poured some brandy in a small glass and carried it to her. She sat just as he had left her—the white arms had fallen listlessly by her side, the white blossoms with the golden bells lay at her feet. Earle thought she looked like some one whose whole strength had been expended in a dire struggle.
"Doris," he said, gently, "drink this dear."
She raised her head and drank the brandy as though it had been so much water. He looked at her in wonder. Then the color slowly returned to her face.
"I understand, Earle," she said, "now, for the first time, why people take to drinking."
There was something so strange in her manner that Earle felt almost frightened.
"Do not talk in that fashion, my darling," he said. "I cannot endure to hear you. Sweet lips like yours should not utter such words."
She laughed; her lips were quite red now, and there was color in her face.
"I can understand it," she repeated, laughingly. "When you brought that to me I was almost dead—it seemed to me that all strength had left me, all the life in me was freezing; now I am warm, living, and well. The next time I feel ill I shall take brandy."
He did not know whether she were laughing or not, whether she meant the words seriously or not, but they impressed him most disagreeably.