De Forrest's ideas were too confused for him to ask what she had lost; and once in the supper-room again, the champagne was so inviting that he, with Brently and others, finished another bottle.
With thoughts dwelling on Hemstead's words, she strolled to the farther end of the walk, and around into another aisle, wishing to be alone for a few moments. It was then that Harcourt and Miss Martell entered, and before she was aware she heard the uncomplimentary reference to herself, and understood the significance of the unexpected scene.
"That is what Mr. Hemstead thinks me capable of," she thought, with tingling cheeks,—"making my 'beauty the slave of contemptible vanity,' and employing it merely to win flattery and attention for myself. You put it very plainly, Mr. Harcourt. I know what is your opinion of me certainly. I wish I cared as little what Mr. Hemstead thinks; and why I should care any more I'm sure I don't know. Yes, I do, too. He's a true, good man, and is the first one that ever treated me as if I were a true, good woman. But now I have made it clear to him, as well as to Harcourt and Miss Martell, what I really am. I knew what Brently was as well as the rest, and yet I smiled upon him because the others did. By this time both of my most ardent admirers are tipsy. What is their admiration worth?"
As she entered the parlors she saw at a glance what would be the character of the remaining hours. The sensuous spirit of wine would inspire the gayety and intensify the natural excitement of the occasion. Heretofore she could join in a fashionable revel with the keenest zest, but she could not to-night. Unconsciously Miss Martell had given her a stinging rebuke. She had been shown how a beautiful woman might employ the power of her fascinations to lure men into purer and nobler life, as Hemstead had suggested the morning after his arrival. As she remembered that she had used her beauty only to lure men to her feet, that she might enjoy a momentary triumph, soon to be forgotten in other conquests, she was already more than dissatisfied with herself,—an unusual experience with Lottie Marsden.
She refused half a dozen invitations to dance, and was about ascending to the dressing-room, when Harcourt met her in the hall and said, "I think I had better send De Forrest home. Hemstead will go with him."
"What is the matter with Julian?"
"Well, they say he mistook a decanter of brandy for wine. At any rate he is under the table, 'looking for something of yours,' he says; though what he does not say or does not know. What's more, we can't get him up, for he says you told him not to leave the dining-room till he found it. I fear we shall have to use force, unless you can manage him."
Then with a. burning flush of shame she remembered how, in her wish to be alone, she had sent him into temptation, instead of trying to shield and protect, as had Miss Martell in the case of Harcourt, whose abstemiousness had excited the surprise of more than one. But without a word she went directly to the supper-room; and there witnessed a scene that she never forgot.
The elegant De Forrest was crawling about the floor, uttering her name continually in connection with the most maudlin sentiment, and averring with many oaths that he would never rise till he had found what she had lost.
Brently, almost equally drunk, sat near, convulsed with laughter, saying with silly iteration, "He's looking for Miss Marsden's heart."