Her laughter was loud rather than musical.
"Haven't I seen you with many a merry party at Spring Gardens?
Don't you remember that mad night when one of your friends was full of wine?
Didn't I cut off the end of his periwig and throw it to the mob to be scrambled for ?" Lancelot Vane's pale face flushed slightly.

He hadn't a very precise recollection of what had happened on that night of frolic and revelry.
Like the rest he had had his bottle or two.

The full blooded handsome woman whom nothing abashed, who could take her liquor like a man, whose beauty fired the souls of the gallants hovering about her wrangling for her smiles, was part of the confused picture that had remained in his memory.

He had some vague remembrance of having kissed her or that she had kissed him--it didn't matter which it was, nothing mattered very much when the wine was in and the wit was out.
Yet now when both were sober and her round, plump arm was round his shoulders on the plea of supporting him he felt embarrassed, ashamed.
"I thank you, madam, for your help," he said hurriedly.

"But I won't bring trouble upon you.