“Say, Van,” said young Haight, tilting his head to one side and shutting one eye to avoid the smoke from his cigar, “say, didn’t I see you dancing with Mrs. Doane after supper?”

“Yes,” said Vandover laughing; “all the men were trying to get a dance with her.  She had an edge on.”

“No?” exclaimed Geary, incredulously.

“That’s a fact,” admitted young Haight.  “Van is right.”

“She was opposite to me at table,” said Vandover, “and I saw her empty a whole bottle of champagne.”

“Why, I didn’t know they got drunk like that at the Cotillons,” said Geary.  “I thought they were very swell.”

“Well, of course, they don’t as a rule,” returned Vandover.  “Of course there are girls like—­like Henrietta Vance who belong to the Cotillon and make it what it is, and what it ought to be.  But there are other girls like Mrs. Doane and Lilly Stannard and the Trafford girls that like their champagne pretty well now, and don’t you forget it!  Oh, you know, I wouldn’t call it getting drunk, though.”

“Well, why not?” exclaimed young Haight impatiently.  “Why not call it ‘getting drunk?’ Why not call things by their right name?  You can see just how bad they are then; and I think it’s shameful that such things can go on in an organization that is supposed to contain the very best people in the city.  Now, I just want to tell you what I saw at one of these same Cotillons in the first part of the season.  Lilly Stannard disappeared after supper and people said she was sick and was going home, but I knew exactly what was the matter, because I had seen her at the supper table.  Well, I had gone outside on the steps to get a mouthful of smoke, and my little cousin, Hetty, who has just come out and who is only nineteen, was out there with me because it was so warm inside, and she had seen Lilly Stannard filling up with champagne at supper, and didn’t know what to make of it.  Well, we were just talking about it, and I was trying to make her believe too that Lilly Stannard was sick, when here comes Lilly herself out to her carriage.  Her maid was supporting her, just about half-carrying her.  Lilly’s face was so pale that the powder on it looked like ashes, her hair was all coming down, and she was hiccoughing.  Now,” continued young Haight, his eyes snapping, and his voice raised so as to make itself heard above the exclamations of his two friends, “now, that’s a fact; I give you my word of honour that it actually happened.  It’s not hearsay; I saw it myself.  It’s fine, isn’t it?” he went on, wrathfully.  “It sounds well, don’t it, when it’s told just as it happened?  The girl was dead drunk.  Oh, she may have made a mistake; it may have been the first time; but the fact remains that she always drinks a lot of champagne at the Cotillons, and other girls have been drunk there, too.  Mrs. Doane, that Van tells about, was drunk; that’s the word for it.  She was dead drunk that night,