"What is it, Margaret? your face is as sad as death."
"How do you call me 'Margaret?'"
"As I would call my wife—Margaret."
He rose and stood before me to screen my face from observation. I supposed so, and endeavored to stifle my agitation.
"You are better," he said, presently. "Come go with me and get some refreshment." And he beckoned to Mrs. Bliss, who was down the hall with an unwieldy gentleman.
"Will you go to supper now?" she asked. "We are only waiting for you," Mr. Uxbridge answered, offering me his arm.
When we emerged into the blaze and glitter of the supper-room I sought refuge in the shadow of Mrs. Bliss's companion, for it seemed to me that I had lost my own.
"Drink this Champagne," said Mr. Uxbridge. "Pay no attention to the Colonel on your left; he won't expect it."
"Neither must you."
"Drink."