"Rather so!" returned the Vere, with a knowing wink, "and a good many things besides. It's a mixture. The 'Vere's Own!' Ha, ha! Might be the name of a regiment!"
And she buried her mouth and nose again in the tankard.
"Look here," said the little man again. "Why not wait till after the dance? It's bad for you before."
"Oh, is it, indeed!" screamed Violet, raising her face, which became suddenly and violently flushed. "O good Lord! Are you a temperance preacher? Teach your granny! Bad for me? Say another word, and I'll box your ears for you! You braying jackass!—you snivelling idiot! Who makes the Brilliant draw? You or I? Tell me that, you staring old—"
Here Tommy, who had for some minutes been vainly endeavoring to attract her attention, raised his weak voice to a feeble shout.
"I say, Miss Vere! I've been trying to tell you, but you won't listen! There's a lady waiting to see you!"
"A what?" she asked.
"A lady!" continued Tommy, in loud tones. "A lady of title! Wants to see you in private! Won't detain you long!"
Violet Vere raised her pewter mug once more, and drained off its contents.
"Lord, ain't I honored!" she said, smacking her lips with a grin. "A lady of title to see me! Let her wait! Now then!" and snapping her fingers, she began her dance, and went through it to the end, with her usual vigor and frankness. When she had finished, she turned to the red-faced man who had watched her evolutions with much delight in spite of the abuse she had heaped upon him, and said with an affected, smirking drawl—