In a second people at the neighboring tables rose to their feet, chairs were overturned, a torrent of words poured forth from both actors and spectators, while through everything and above everything the band poured forth an intoxicating waltz.
Max, forgetful of himself, stood with wide eyes and white, absorbed face.

He saw the climax of the scene--saw the bearded man lean across the table and seize the girl by the waist--saw, to his breathless amazement, the woman Lize suddenly grasp the champagne bottle and fling it full into his face; then, abruptly, out of the maze of sensations, he felt some one grip him by the shoulder and march him straight through the crowd, into the vestibule, on into the open air.
Outside, in the glare of the lights, in the cold fresh air of the street, he turned, white and shaking, upon Blake.
"Why did you do it ?" he demanded.

"I think you were a coward! I would not have run away!" Blake laughed, though his own voice was a little uneven, his own face looked a little pale.

"There are some battle-fields, boy, where discretion is obviously the better part of valor! I'm sorry I brought you here, though they generally manage to avoid this sort of thing." Max still looked indignant.
"But she was a friend of yours!" "A friend! My God!" "But she called you her friend!" "Friendship is a much-defaced coin that poverty-stricken humanity will always pass! Our friendship, boy, consists in the fact that she once loved and was loved by a man I knew.

Poor Lize! She had a bit too much heart for the game she played.