Chapter Twelve.
“Après le Bal.”
The ball was almost over; the flagged and flagging dancers rapidly retiring. The belles were already gone, and among them Julia Girdwood. Only the wallflowers, yet comparatively fresh, were stirring upon the floor. To them it was the time of true enjoyment; for it is they who “dance all night till broad daylight.”
Maynard had no motive for remaining after Miss Girdwood was gone. It was, in truth, she who had retained him. But with a spirit now stirred by conflicting emotions, there would be little chance of sleep; and he resolved, before retiring to his couch, to make one more sacrifice at the shrine of Bacchus.
With this intent, he again descended the stairway leading to the cellar saloon.
On reaching the basement, he saw that he had been preceded by a score of gentlemen, who, like himself, had come down from the ball-room.
They were standing in knots—drinking, smoking, conversing.
Scarce giving any of them a glance, he stepped up to the bar, and pronounced the name of his drink—this time plain brandy and water.