"Take it, James, for my sake, even if you only place it to your lips without tasting it," she said, in a low, hurried whisper.
The young husband could not stand this. He took the glass, while the heart of Clara bounded with an exulting throb. Of course, having gone thus far, he had to go through the form of drinking with her. In doing so, he sipped but a few drops. These thrilled on the nerve of taste with a sensation of exquisite pleasure. Involuntarily he placed the glass to his lips again, and took a slight draught.
Then a sudden chill passed through his frame as consciousness returned, and he would fain have dashed the glass from him as a poisoning serpent that was preparing to sting him, but for the company that crowded the rooms. From this state he was aroused by the sweet voice of his young wife, saying, in happy tones—
"So it has not poisoned you, James."
He smiled an answer, but did not speak. The peculiar expression of that smile, Clara remembered for many years afterwards.
"Come! you must empty your glass with me," she said, in a moment after. "See! you have scarcely tasted it yet. Now—"
And she raised her glass, and he did the same. When he withdrew his own from his lips, it was empty.
"Bravo!"—exclaimed Clara, in a low, triumphant tone.
"Now, isn't that delightful wine?"
"Yes, very."