"And the second pint of _Chambertin_ at dinner," finished Morris, as Miss Wood--the toilette and _her_ confidence both completed--slipped her perfectly gloved hand into Andy's arm again. Precisely, then, three sharp notes of the cornet cut through the stillness under the flowers. It was followed by the indescribable sound, made only by the rush of many female trains towards one spot. Like the chronicled war-horse, Andy shook his mane at the first note; Miss Wood nodded beamingly over her shoulder at the second; and the pair were hastening off by the time the third died away. Blanche showed no disposition to take the vacated seat. "The German is forming," she said, "and I am engaged to that colt-like Mr. Upton." Only at the door of the conservatory she paused. "Does Mr. Browne ever drink too much wine?" she asked abruptly. Van never hesitated one second. He lied loyally. "Why, _never_, of course," he deprecated, in the most natural tone. "With rare exceptions. But what deucedly sharp eyes she has," he added, mentally, as Mr. Upton informed them that "the bell had tapped," and took Blanche off. Almost at the same moment, a waiter rushed by with a wine-cooler and glasses; and he heard the pompous butler direct: "Set it by Mr. Browne's chair. He leads in _ler curtillyun!_" Morris half started to countermand the order. Then he reconsidered and leaned against the doorway. "He can't mean to drink it, after his promise to me," he thought. "Anyway, he might get something worse. Besides, I am not his guardian; and," he added very slowly, a strange smile hovering about his lips, "I can scarcely keep my own head to-night." Somehow he, best dancer in town as he was, had no partner to-night. The sight before him had no novelty; and Mr. Trotter Upton's vivacious prancing somewhat irritated him, in spite of the amusement at himself he felt at the sensation. "Didn't think I was so far gone as to be jealous of Trotter," he muttered. Then he slipped into the hat-room and was quickly capped and cloaked for that precious boon to the bored, the exit _sans adieu_. V. It was a raw, searching Christmas morning into which Van Morris stepped, as he softly closed the door of the Allmand mansion and turned up his fur collar against "a nipping and an eager air." Even in that fashionable section the streets already showed somewhat of the bustle of the busy to-morrow. Belated caterers' carts spun by; early butchers' and milk-wagons rumbled along, making their best speed towards distant patrons. Here and there, gleams from gas-lit windows slanted athwart the frosty darkness, punctuated by ever-recurrent flaring of street lamps. Not infrequent groups of muffled men--some jovial with reminiscent scenes of pleasure left behind, and some hilarious from what they brought along with them--passed him, as he strode rapidly along the echoing flags, too intent on his own thoughts to notice any of them.