A little gay! A little drunk would be nearer
the truth."
"Oh dear! such a vulgar word! We don't use it in good society, you
know. It belongs to taverns and drinking-saloons--to coarse, common
people. You must say 'a little excited,' 'a little gay,' but not
drunk. That's dreadful!"
"Drunk!" said the other, with emphasis, but speaking low and for the
ear only of the lady with whom she was talking. "We understand a
great deal better the quality of a thing when we call it by its
right name. If a young man drinks wine or brandy until he becomes
intoxicated, as Whitford has done to-night, and we say he is drunk
instead of exhilarated or a little gay, we do something toward
making his conduct odious. We do not excuse, but condemn. We make it
disgraceful instead of palliating the offence."
The lady paused, when her companion said:
"Look! Blanche Birtwell is trying to quiet him. Did you know they
were engaged?"
"What!"
"Engaged."
"Then I pity her from my heart. A young man who hasn't self-control
enough to keep himself sober at an evening party can't be called a
very promising subject for a husband."
"She has placed her arm in his and is looking up into his face so
sweetly. What a lovely girl she is! There! he's quieter already; and
see, she is drawing him out of the group of young men and talking to
him in such a bright, animated way."
"Poor child! it makes my eyes wet; and this is her first humiliating
and painful duty toward her future husband.
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