"Hush!" I whispered, raising my finger. Then added, in a warning tone—"Enjoy it in moderation, Albert."
His brows knit slightly. The crowd parted us, and we did not meet again during the evening.
By twelve o'clock, most of the ladies had withdrawn from the supper-room; but the enticement of wine held too many of the men there—young and old. Bursts of coarse laughter, loud exclamations, and snatches of song rang out from the company in strange confusion. It was difficult to realize that the actors in this scene of revelry were gentlemen, and gentlemen's sons, so called, and not the coarse frequenters of a corner tavern.
Guests now began to withdraw quietly. It was about half-past twelve when Mrs. Martindale came down from the dressing-room, with her daughter, and joined Mr. Martindale in the hall, where he had been waiting for them.
"Where is Albert?" I heard the mother ask.
"In the supper-room, I presume; I've looked for him in the parlors," Mr. Martindale answered.
"I will call him for you," I said, coming forward.
"Oh, do if you please," my friend replied. There was a husky tremor in her voice.
I went to the supper-room. All the ladies had retired, and the door was shut. What a scene for a gentleman's house presented itself! Cigars had been lighted, and the air was thick with smoke. As I pushed open the door, my ear was fairly stunned by the confusion of sounds. There was a hush of voices, and I saw bottles from many hands set quickly upon the table, and glasses removed from lips already too deeply stained with wine. With three or four exceptions, all of this company were young men and boys. Near the door was the person I sought.
"Albert!" I called; and the young man came forward. His face was darkly flushed, and his eyes red and glittering.