She would show him! He shouldn't scoff at her a second time. A variety of bottles were brought; besides the sherry and the angostura, an old, sweet liqueur. It was a pity, uncle thought, to mix such good things, and he took two or three glasses of the latter neat, and she followed his example.
The tiresome eggs broke at the wrong place, it was true, and emptied their contents on her dress and the carpet. But what did that matter? It merely increased the fun ... and dear old uncle was paying for everything. To make up for the eggs smashing, the blue flame of the alcohol-lamp leapt up merrily as high as the orchids, as high as the ceiling.... She would have loved to lick up the flames, as the witches did.
"Your luck, Konni!--our luck, Konni!"
"Don't drink it," she heard him say, and his voice sounded harder than usual. Indeed, she hardly recognised it as his voice at all.
"Muff!" she laughed, and thrust out her tongue at him. "Muff!"
"Don't drink it!" the warning voice said again. "You are not used to it."
She not used to drinking! How dared he say so? This was an insult to her honour; yes, an insult to her honour.
"How do you know what I am used to? I am used to plenty of things you don't guess.... Here, on this seat where I am sitting now, I have sat more than once--more than ten times--and have drunk ten times more."
"Dearest heart, you don't know what you are saying. It isn't true."
Once more his voice sounded gentle and soothing, as if he were reproving a naughty child.