Cole assented, and might have slipped out unnoticed, but for his assumption of a lofty stride, which would have landed him on the floor but for a timely arm from Hans.
The fun grew fast and furious, and everybody at the table was flushed except Ahlberg and Pembroke. Ahlberg drank as much as anybody, but his delicate hand was as steady, and his cold blue eyes as clear as if it had been water from the well he was drinking. Pembroke did not drink much and remained cool and smiling.
After an hour or two had passed, he began to be intensely bored by Mr. Hibbs' songs, who now became the minstrel, Ahlberg's long stories and young Peyton's jokes—and besides he wondered at Mr. Cole's absence. So in the midst of a lively discussion, he quietly left his seat and went out.
In the hall several doors opened—but from the drawing room door came a flood of light, and voices. He heard Madame Koller's somewhat shrill tones saying:
"But Mr. Cole, I cannot marry you—fancy me—"
"Darling Eliza," cried Mr. Cole, in a maudlin, tipsy voice. "I know you love me. Your partiality—"
Pembroke made two strides to the door. Just as he reached it, he saw a tableau. Mr. Cole, whose head just reached to Madame Koller's shoulder, had seized her by the waist and was saying:
"One kiss—only one, my darling!"
