During the first of the evening her companion finds her more reserved
than is to his taste, but he says to himself, only wait, my fair one,
until supper time, and the wine will do the work desired.

Twelve o'clock at last comes, and with it the summons to the supper
room. Here the well-spread table, the brilliant lights, the flowers, the
music and the gay conversation are all sources of the greatest pleasure
to the unaccustomed girl, but there is one thing which does not please
her. It is the fact that wine is flowing freely and that all are
partaking of it. She feels that she can never consent to drink. It is
something she has never done in her life. Yet she dares not refuse, for
all the others are drinking, and she knows that to refuse would bring
upon herself the ridicule of all the party.

She hears her companion order a bottle of wine opened. He pours and
offers it, saying, "Just a social glass, it will refresh you." She
looks at him as if to protest, but he returns the gaze and hands her the
fatal glass, and she has not the moral courage to say no.

As they raise their glasses he murmurs softly, "Here's hoping we may be
perfectly happy in each other's love, and that the cup of bliss now
raised to our lips may never spill."

One glass and then another and the brain unaccustomed to wine is
whirling and giddy. The vile wretch sees that his game is won.

He whispers in her ear many soft and foolish lies, tells her that he
loves her, and that if she can return that love, he is hers, and hers
alone, so long as life shall last.