Mrs. Dagon laughed her laugh. “That’s right, dear, stand by your colors. You’re all safe. Gabriel is Lawrence’s partner. You can afford to be romantic, dear.”
As she spoke the door opened, and Abel entered. His dress was disordered, his face was flushed, and his manner excited. He ran up to May and kissed her. She recoiled from the unaccustomed caress, and both she and Mrs. Dagon perceived in his appearance and manner, as well as in the odor which presently filled the room, that Abel was intoxicated.
“May, darling,” he began in a maudlin tone, “how’s our dear mother?”
“She’s pretty well,” replied May, “but you had better not go up and see her.”
“No, darling, I won’t go if you say not.”
His eyes then fell uncertainly upon Mrs. Dagon, and he added, thickly,
“That’s only Aunt Dagon. How do, Aunt Dagon?”
He smiled at her and at May, and continued,
“I don’t mind Aunt Dagon. Do you mind her, May?”
“What do you want, Abel?” asked May, with the old expression sliding into her eyes that used to be there when she sat alone—a fairy princess in her tower, and thought of many things.