“Excuse me,” said she, in a quick, earnest voice, which drew the attention of all. “I will drink to Lucy with all my heart, but in water, if you please,” and she playfully filled the tall glass from a water goblet near her.
“May I be permitted to follow Miss Gray’s example? She must not claim all the honor of this new fashion,” and the speaker, a young man with a fine though somewhat sad face, suited the action to the word.
Courtesy subdued the astonishment and remonstrances of the host and his fashionable friends, and this strange freak of Miss Gray’s formed the topic of conversation after the ladies withdrew.
“I do not think it a fancy—Isabel Gray always acts from principle,” said one of the party, with whom she had been conversing; and Robert Lewis, for so they called her supporter in this unparalleled refusal, gayly declared himself bound, for that night at least, to drink nothing but water, for her sake.
“Oh, Isabel, how could you do so?” said her cousin, as they re-entered the drawingroom, and the ladies had dispersed in various groups to examine and admire its decorations.
“Do what, dear Lucy?”
“Why, act in such a strange way. I never knew you to refuse wine before. You might, at least, have touched the glass to your lips, as you always have done. Mr. Rushton was too polite to remonstrate, but I saw he looked terribly annoyed. He is so proud of his wines, too, and I wanted him to like you so much. I would not have had it happen—oh, for any thing,” and the little lady clasped her hands with a most tragical look of distress.
“How very terrible! Is it such a mighty offense? But, seriously, it was not a freak. I shall never take wine again.”
“And all my parties to attend? You will be talked about all winter. Why, nothing is expected of a lady now-a-days but to sip the least possible quantity; and, besides, champagne, you know, Isabel—champagne never hurt any one.”
“I have seen too much of its ill effects to agree with you there, Lucy. It has led to intemperance again and again. My heart has long condemned the practice of convivial drinking, and I cannot countenance it even by seeming to join. Think of poor Talfourd—what made him a beggar and a maniac! He was your husband’s college friend.”