'Am I a little tipsy?' he asks. 'Oh,
don't be angry; it's all for love of you. I have been in the highest
society, my darling; proposing your health over and over and over
again, and drinking to you deeper than all the rest of the company. You
don't blame me? Ah, but I blame myself. I was wrong to leave you, and
dine with men. What do I want with the society of men, when I have your
society? Drinking your health is a lame excuse. I will refuse all
invitations for the future that don't include my wife.' And--mind!--he
really means it, at the time. Two or three days later, he forgets his
good resolutions, and dines with the men again, and comes home with
more charming excuses, and stolen sweetmeats, and good resolutions. I
am afraid I weary you, Mr. Mountjoy?"
"You surprise me," Hugh replied. "Why do I hear all this of Lord
Harry?"
Mrs. Vimpany left her chair. The stage directions of other days had
accustomed her to rise, when the character she played had anything
serious to say. Her own character still felt the animating influence of
dramatic habit: she rose now, and laid her hand impressively on
Mountjoy's shoulder.
"I have not thoughtlessly tried your patience," she said.
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