He had met her a few times in company, and her bearing toward him had always before been marked by a lady-like dignity and reserve.

Now she was altogether another being, loud, free and familiar almost to rudeness.
"You must have some wine, Sir Knight, to give you mettle for the conflict," she said, running to the table and filling a glass, which she handed to him with the air of a Hebe.
Whitford did not hesitate, but raised the glass to his lips and emptied it at a single draught.
"Now for knight or dragon, my lady fair.

I am yours to do or die," he exclaimed, drawing up his handsome form with a mock dignity, at which a loud cheer broke out from the group of girls and young men that was far more befitting a tavern-saloon than a gentleman's dining-room.
Louder and noisier this little group became, Whitford, under a fresh supply of wine, leading in the boisterous mirth.

One after another, attracted by the gayety and laughter, joined the group, until it numbered fifteen or twenty half-intoxicated young men and women, who lost themselves in a kind of wild saturnalia.
It was past twelve o'clock when Mrs.Whitford entered the dining-room, where the noise and laughter were almost deafening.

Her face was pale, her lips closely compressed and her forehead contracted with pain.