He rather reluctantly poured her out a very small drink, as he was far from sure whether or not the Doctor would approve. Lola, up to now, had always shown the most complete distaste for any sort of liquor, a distaste which she really felt; which any healthy young person would feel were it not for the vague general impression that somewhere in the drops of liquor is hidden some hint of romance, some glimpse of mysterious knowledge; the desire of the unknown.
“How very generous,” remarked Lola, looking at the few amber drops in the bottom of her glass.
“Quite enough to begin with,” replied John, and he watched her curiously as she put the glass to her lips, and laughed heartily as he saw her gasp and the tears come to her eyes.
“Well?” he questioned.
“I don’t like it.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“Do you? Does anyone?”
“I think not, Lola. Not at first, anyway. It is the physical excitement, the stimulation.”
“I think I understand,” she spoke dreamily, thoughtfully, for she had often wondered lately why so many people seemed to care so much for a thing that had never meant anything at all to her, so little that up to that very moment she had not even been curious. “To change, if only for a moment the deadly monotony of things. To have another emotion, a new sensation. You will have to make me cocktails when we are married, John.”
“Well, I——”