“They’re off!” groaned Trenton; “you’d think they hated each other from the way they talk. We’ll be dignified, Grace, and keep out of their silly controversies. Between ourselves, I’ve been exposed to a great deal of champagne, but I can’t tell one brand from another.”
“It’s terribly dangerous, isn’t it?” asked Grace, peering into her glass. “I took your advice about the cocktail and I didn’t feel it at all; how much may I drink of this?”
“Well, about a quarter of that won’t do you any harm,” Trenton replied after pondering the matter with exaggerated gravity. “It seems to me you’re rubbing it in just a little by asking my opinion in that tone of voice. One might think I was your father.”
“Oh, you’re not nearly old enough for that! But would you be ashamed of me,” Grace asked, sipping the wine and holding up the glass each time that he might see that she was not exceeding her allowance.
“I shouldn’t be ashamed of you even if you were my aunt! I was just thinking how singular it is that when a man reaches forty he wants every girl he meets to think he’s only twenty-seven. Have you noticed that?”
“No; but I’ll remember it. I can see you’re terribly wise. Have I had enough of this pretty stuff?”
He inspected her glass carefully and nodded.
“Just about.”
“If I drank it all I might be more amusing,” she suggested. “I might be as lively as Irene.”
“Let me study you first without artificial stimulation. As I have every intention of keeping sober myself you’ll get some little idea of what manner of being I am. A first meeting is important—it’s either that or nothing. If we both got tipsy it would be different; but frankly I don’t like being tipsy. Oh, don’t think I’ve never been! Far, far from it. But tonight I have a feeling that it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to lose my head.”