The supper given by Kate was a sort of return to her friend Fan for the dinner at the McTavish villa; and in sumptuousness was a spread no way inferior.
In point of time it might have been termed a dinner; for it commenced at the early hour of eight.
This was to give opportunity for a quiet rubber of whist to be played afterward, and in which “Spooney,” as she called young Scudamore—though not to his face—was expected to be one of the corners.
There was wine of every variety—each of the choicest to be found in the cellars of the café. Then came the cards, and continued till Scudamore declared himself cleared out; and then there was carousal.
The mirth was kept up till the guests had got into that condition jocularly called “How come you so?”
It applied alike to male and female. Fan, the Honourable Geraldine, and two other frail daughters of Eve, having indulged in the grape juice as freely as their gentlemen fellow-revellers.
At breaking up, but one of the party seemed firm upon his feet. This was the Count de Valmy.
It was not his habit to be hard-headed; but on this occasion he had preserved himself, and for a purpose.
Busy with their own imbibing, nobody noticed him secretly spilling his liquor into the spittoon, while pretending to “drink fair.”
If they had, they might have wondered, but could not have guessed why. The fiend himself could not have imagined his foul design in thus dodging the drink.