He had evidently done so, and I groaned in spirit.
“Tom Flynn don’t drink wine,” I added.
“Let him drink coffee, then. We can suit his taste.”
“He thinks it is wicked to furnish wine.”
“Well, he can have the full benefit of his opinion,” laughed Lilian, whose tongue flew merrily under the stimulus of the wine she had drank.
Mrs. Oliphant took champagne, and warmed up under its influence. She became quite sociable, and even forgiving. I was very glad to see that Miss Bertha, for some reason best known to herself, did not partake of the generous beverage. I am not sure that it was not the prospect of disposing of another of her incumbrances quite as much as the influence of the champagne which melted Mrs. Oliphant. Certainly Miss Bertha’s chances were very flattering. Psalmody seemed to have done its perfect work.
Tom looked very serious when the wine began to flow in rivers of profusion. He did not like it, and he seemed to be out of his element. While most of the party were eating and drinking in the hall, dining and sitting-rooms, I heard the voices of Bertha and Tom mingling with the notes of the piano in a sacred song. They were alone in the parlor, preferring to be away from the noisy revel over the wine cup.
The House Warming. [Page 204].