Flushed With Wine
by
“WASN’T that Ernestine Lee that we passed this moment?” asked Harvey Lane, a young M.D., of his friend James Everett, in a tone of surprise.
“Yes, I believe it was–“Everett returned, rather coldly.
“You believe it was! Surely, James, nothing has occurred to destroy the intimacy that has for some time existed between you.”
“You saw that we did not speak.”
“I did.”
“And, probably, shall never be on terms of friendship again.”
“What you say pains me very much, James. Of course there is a reason for so great a change. May I ask what it is?”
“It is, no doubt, a good deal my own fault. But still, I cannot help thinking that she has taken offence too suddenly, where no offence was intended. You know that I have been long paying attentions to her?”
“Yes.”
“If I remember rightly, I told you last week, that my intentions towards her were of a serious character. In a word, that I had fully made up my mind to ask her hand in marriage.”
“O, yes,–I remember it very well. And that is the reason why I felt so much surprised at seeing you pass each other, without speaking.”
“Well, a few evenings ago, I called, as usual, intending, if a good opportunity offered, to make known my true feelings towards her. Unfortunately, I had dined out that day with some young friends. We sat late at table, and when I left, I was a little flushed with wine. It was a very little, for you know that I can drink pretty freely without its being seen. But, somehow, or other, I was more elated than is usual with me on such occasions, and when I called on Ernestine, felt as free and easy as if everything was settled, and we were to be married in a week. For a time, we chatted together very pleasantly; then I asked her to play and sing for me. She went to the piano, at my request, and played and sung two or three very sweet airs. I don’t know which it was that elated my feelings so much–the wine, or the delightful music. Certain it is, that at the conclusion of a piece, I was in such rapture, that I threw my arms around her neck, drew back her head, and kissed her with emphatic earnestness.”
“Why, James!”
“You may well be surprised at the commission of so rude and ungentlemanly an act. But, as I have said, I was flushed with wine.”
“How did Ernestine act?”
“She was, of course, deeply indignant at the unwarrantable liberty. Springing from the piano-stool, her face crimsoned over, she drew herself up with a dignified air, and ordered me instantly to leave her presence. I attempted to make an apology, but she would not hear a word. I have since written to her, but my letter has been returned unopened.”
“Really, that is unfortunate,” the friend of Everett said, with concern. “Ernestine is a girl whom any man might be proud to gain as a wife. And, besides her personal qualifications, a handsome fortune will go with her hand.”
“I know all that too well, Harvey. Fool that I have been, to mar such prospects as were mine! But she must have known that I was not myself–and ought to have charged the fault upon the wine, and not upon me.”
“Such a discrimination is not usually made.”
“I know that it is not. And for not making it in my case, I certainly cannot help blaming Ernestine a little. She must have known, that, had I not been flushed with wine, I never would have taken the liberty with her that I did. As it is, however, I am not only pained at the consequences of my foolishness, but deeply mortified at my conduct.”
“Is there no hope of a reconciliation?”
“I do not think there is any. If she had accepted my written apology for the act, there would have been some hope. But the fact of her returning my letter unopened, is conclusive as to the permanency of the breach. I can now make no further advances.”