“There is nothing very new about the scandalous conduct of Miss Wilberforce, save her unfortunate habit of divesting herself—­”

“Please to note that there is a good deal of loose and exaggerated talk going on here.  But one thing is quite certain.  These exhibitions, supposing they really take place, have never been known to occur until after midnight—­with the lamentable exception of yesterday afternoon, when it was even darker than midnight.  If your decent folks are so squeamish, what are they doing in the streets at that unearthly hour?  I am asleep them, as they ought to be.  This may account for the fact that I have never seen the lady in a state of alcoholic exhilaration.  But if I had the good luck to stumble upon her, I would certainly not be shocked.”

“And what, may I ask, would you do?”

“My feelings towards the spectacle would depend upon the momentary state of my mind.  I might, for example, be in a frolicsome Elizabethan mood.  In that case I would appreciate the humour of the situation.  If only half of what I hear is true, she must be extremely funny at such moments.  I would probably laugh myself into an apoplexy.  I wish the English still possessed a shred of the old sense of humour which Puritanism, and dyspepsia, and newspaper reading, and tea-drinking have nearly extinguished.  It ought to be revived afresh.  Nothing like a good drunkard for that purpose.  As a laughter-provoking device it is cheaper and more effective than any pantomime yet invented; and none the worse, surely, for being a little old-fashioned?”

“I must say, Mr. Keith, I don’t think God created anybody to be laughed at.”

“Maybe he didn’t.  But a fellow can’t help laughing, all the same.  On the other hand, I might be in that interfering humanitarian mood which is liable to beset even the wisest of us.  I would then be tempted to lead her homeward gently but firmly, simulating intoxication, if I could bring myself to do it—­pretending, you understand, to be in the same state as herself, if I could manage it with any prospect of success—­in order to make her feel thoroughly at ease.  I should not dream of ruffling her state of mind by a single word f reproach; the private feelings and self-respect, even of a drunkard, should never be violated.  Again, if I were in my ordinary reflective condition, I should doubtless stand aside and muse, as I have often mused, upon the folly of intemperance.  Drunkenness—­that shameful vice!  How many estimable men and women have succumbed to it; men I have known, women I have loved and even respected!  This makes me think that we ought to be grateful to have so glaring an example of insobriety before our eyes.  We ought to regard Miss Wilberforce, if your account of her be true, as a Divine warning.  Warnings are not sent for nothing.  And you gentlemen—­you propose to hide away this heaven-sent warning in a sanatorium.  That strikes me as flying in the face of Providence.”