"
Then he unconsciously fell to analyzing
Bertha's character, wondering vaguely that a
person who moved so timidly in social life,
appearing so diffident, from an ever-present fear
of blundering against the established forms of
etiquette, could judge so quickly, and with such
a merciless certainty, whenever a moral question,
a question of right and wrong, was at issue.
And, pursuing the same train of thought, he
contrasted her with himself, who moved in the
highest spheres of society as in his native
element, heedless of moral scruples, and conscious
of no loftier motive for his actions than the
immediate pleasure of the moment.
As Ralph turned the corner of a street, he
heard himself hailed from the other sidewalk by
a chorus of merry voices.
"Ah, my dear Baroness," cried a young man,
springing across the street and grasping Ralph's
hand (all his student friends called him the
Baroness), "in the name of this illustrious
company, allow me to salute you. But why the
deuce--what is the matter with you? If you
have the Katzenjammer,[7] soda-water is the
thing. Come along,--it's my treat!"
[7] Katzenjammer is the sensation a man has
the morning after a carousal.
The students instantly thronged around
Ralph, who stood distractedly swinging his cane
and smiling idiotically.
"I am not quite well," said he; "leave me
alone."
"No, to be sure, you don't look well," cried a
jolly youth, against whom Bertha had
frequently warned him; "but a glass of sherry
will soon restore you.
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