It was the morning after one of Richard's off nights, when Edith sat leisurely finishing her late breakfast and reading the head-lines in the morning paper, that her brother put in his belated appearance.
"Morning, Ricky," she greeted him cheerfully. "Up for all day?"
"I think so," was the doubtful answer. "I'm awfully tired. I'd have been down sooner except that I couldn't decide whether to stay in bed until lunchtime and give up my breakfast, or get up and have my breakfast and give up my rest. Even now I believe I made a mistake, for I'm awfully tired and I don't feel hungry."
"You might go back to bed again," Edith suggested helpfully.
"No; I'm dressed now, and that would be too much trouble.—I think I'll make my breakfast off a jolly little bottle of Célestin."
Edith laughed. "Too much wine last night, Ricky?"
Stevens made a wry face. "I'll have to give up dancing or drinking, one or the other," he said emphatically; "it isn't scientific. Wine should be allowed to stand in the stomach just as it ought to stand in the bottle. This idea of churning it up by dancing is all wrong. I'd rather dance while I'm dancing and drink while I'm drinking; but every one else wants to do both things at the same time. It's all wrong.—That Célestin has a beastly bad taste this morning." He examined the bottle critically. "I was afraid the maid had brought me Hunyadi by mistake."
"I was in at Marian's yesterday," Edith remarked. "Mr. Hamlen has arrived, and she expects Philip and Billy Huntington at the house over Easter."
"Has Hamlen been there yet? He's a melancholy sort,—about as cheerful as a hearse. Feeling as I do this morning I think I'd rather like to see him; but I hope to feel better soon."
"No; he hasn't been there yet. Marian tried to get him out for dinner, but some other friends were to dine with her so he wouldn't come."