“Good Heavens, mother! what are you driving at?  One would think we were going into a howling wilderness, among savages and wild beasts, instead of into a company of the most cultured and refined people in a Christian city.”

“There is danger everywhere, my son,” the mother replied, with increasing sobriety of manner, “and the highest civilization of the day has its perils as well as the lowest conditions of society.  The enemy hides in ambush everywhere—­in the gay drawing-room as well as in the meanest hovel.”

She paused, and mother and son looked into each other’s faces in silence for several moments.  Then the former said: 

“I must speak plainly, Ellis.  You are not as guarded as you should be on these occasions.  You take wine too freely.”

“Oh, mother!” His voice was, half surprised, half angry.  A red flush mounted to cheeks and forehead.  Rising, he walked the room in an agitated manner, and then came and sat down.  The color had gone out of his face: 

“How could you say so, mother?  You do me wrong.  It is a mistake.”

The lady shook her head: 

“No, my son, it is true.  A mother’s eyes rarely deceive her.  You took wine too freely both at Mrs. Judson’s and Mrs. Ingersoll’s, and acted so little like my gentlemanly, dignified son that my cheeks burned and my heart ached with mortification.  I saw in other eyes that looked at you both pity and condemnation.  Ah, my son! there was more of bitterness in that for a mother’s heart than you will ever comprehend.”

Her voice broke into a sob.

“My dear, dear mother,” returned the young man, exhibiting much distress, “you and others exaggerated what you saw.  I might have been a trifle gay, and who is not after a glass or two of champagne?  I was no gayer than the rest.  When young people get together, and one spurs another on they are apt to grow a little wild.  But to call high spirits, even noisy high spirits, intoxication is unjust.  You must not be too hard on me, mother, nor let your care for your son lead you into needless apprehensions.  I am in no danger here.  Set your heart at rest on that score.”

But this was impossible.  Mrs. Whitford knew there was danger, and that of the gravest character.  Two years before, her son had come home from college, where he had graduated with all the honors her heart could desire, a pure, high-toned young man, possessing talents of no common order.  His father wished him to study law; and as his own inclinations led in that direction, he went into the office of one of the best practitioners in the city, and studied for his profession with the same thoroughness that had distinguished him while in college.  He had just been admitted to the bar.