Mrs. D'Alton was mortified; she had imagined that those people whom
she met at the seaside would have judged her on her merits, and
would not have taken the trouble to inquire concerning her
antecedents. She did not calculate that, what may be allowable at a
summer resort, would not be tolerated in Montreal society; moreover,
that the tongue of slander had been busily engaged in painting her
even blacker than she really was, so that these people, even if
personally disposed to associate with her, _dared_ not do so lest
they might lose their own insecure foothold on the ladder of social
position. In moody silence she presided throughout the entire evening;
she was enraged at herself and at the poor enslaved creatures who,
though anxious to go and enjoy themselves yet dared not infringe the
rules laid down by society; and, as she drank glass after glass of
her husband's famous Moselle, she became more and more despondent.

About midnight Amy Watson, the sister of the nursery-governess, took
her departure, and Mr. D'Alton with his friends, went up to the
billiard room to enjoy themselves at their favorite game. It was
near daylight ere they grew tired of pocketing the ivory spheres,
and left their host to close the doors, and retire to his room. When
he did so what a sight met his gaze! There lay his wife in all the
finery she had arrayed herself to dazzle her fashionable
acquaintances, _a speechless corpse_! a brandy-bottle, nearly emptied,
lay at her side, telling too plainly what had been the cause of her
untimely death. Her husband's first impulse was to ring the bell and
send for a doctor, but, knowing the scandal that would surely ensue,
he quietly let himself out, and went for Dr. Hickson, being
determined not to give up hope till he had done all that could
possibly be done. The doctor on examining the body shook his head