Engaged, they say.

All right.

But glass is sharp, and love's fetters are made of silk.

Will the edge be duller if the glass is filled with wine?
I trow not." And a gleam of satisfaction lit up the young man's face.
With an effort strong and self-controlling for one so young, Blanche Birtwell laid her hand upon her troubled heart as soon as she was out of the supper-room, and tried to still its agitation.

The color came back to her cheeks and some of the lost brightness to her eyes, but she was not long in discovering that the glass of wine taken with his college friend had proved too much for the already confused brain of her lover who began talking foolishly and acting in a way that mortified and pained her exceedingly.