He was in
the midst of the group before he really understood who the young
lady was that had laid such violent hands upon him. He then
recognized her as the daughter of a well-known merchant. 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.
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