“I heard,” and I spoke with great seriousness, “that someone, one of the servants, put champagne in the claret cup.”
“I hope you did not take any of it,” Mumsie said, her voice in alarm.
“I had a glass before the champagne was added,” I replied, my heart in my mouth.
“Does she look as if she had been on the bat, does she talk as if this were the morning after?” Uncle asked his wife in kind mockery.
How grateful I felt to Uncle! Mumsie, however, did not respond to her husband’s raillery as readily as I could have wished. This troubled me, left me full of doubts. I went to my room as quickly as I could.
The last words Uncle said to me were that if his memory were good and his experience counted for anything, I would not feel as played out to-day, as I would to-morrow. Of course, Uncle was not figuring on the wine, what he meant was the effect of the late hours and excitement. It struck me that if I had a worse headache to-morrow than I had to-day, I would die of it.
On returning to my room, I threw myself on my unmade bed and worried. I must break with this Charlie Lien. I must write him a letter telling him it would not be right for me to meet him, and intimating what my sober senses thought of his familiarity with me.
But how could I word it: it might fall into some other body’s hands. His mother might open my letter by mistake—awful thought!
Oh! what a day of misery has been this New Year’s day!
Sunday, January 2nd.