The landlady turned pale. The expression of Mr. Mountjoy's indignation was evidently reserved for the mistress of the house. "Did he swear," she asked, "when he tasted it?" "Lord bless you, ma'am, no! Drank it out of a tumbler, and--if you will believe me--actually seemed to like it." The landlady recovered her colour. Gratitude to Providence for having sent a customer to the inn, who could drink sour wine without discovering it, was the uppermost feeling in her ample bosom as she entered the private room. Mr. Mountjoy justified her anticipations. He was simple enough--with his tumbler before him, and the wine as it were under his nose--to begin with an apology. "I am sorry to trouble you, ma'am. May I ask where you got this wine?" "The wine, sir, was one of my late husband's bad debts. It was all he could get from a Frenchman who owed him money." "It's worth money, ma'am." "Indeed, sir?" "Yes, indeed. This is some of the finest and purest claret that I have tasted for many a long day past." An alarming suspicion disturbed the serenity of the landlady's mind. Was his extraordinary opinion of the wine sincere? Or was it Mr. Mountjoy's wicked design to entrap her into praising her claret and then to imply that she was a cheat by declaring what he really thought of it? She took refuge in a cautious reply: "You are the first gentleman, sir, who has not found fault with it." "In that case, perhaps you would like to get rid of the wine?" Mr. Mountjoy suggested. The landlady was still cautious. "Who will buy it of me, sir?" "I will. How much do you charge for it by the bottle?" It was, by this time, clear that he was not mischievous--only a little crazy. The worldly-wise hostess took advantage of that circumstance to double the price. Without hesitation, she said: "Five shillings a bottle, sir." Often, too often, the irony of circumstances brings together, on this earthly scene, the opposite types of vice and virtue. A lying landlady and a guest incapable of deceit were looking at each other across a narrow table; equally unconscious of the immeasurable moral gulf that lay between them, Influenced by honourable feeling, innocent Hugh Mountjoy lashed the landlady's greed for money to the full-gallop of human cupidity. "I don't think you are aware of the value of your wine," he said. "I have claret in my cellar which is not so good as this, and which costs more than you have asked. It is only fair to offer you seven-and-sixpence a bottle." When an eccentric traveller is asked to pay a price, and deliberately raises that price against himself, where is the sensible woman--especially if she happens to be a widow conducting an unprofitable business--who would hesitate to improve the opportunity? The greedy landlady raised her terms. "On reflection, sir, I think I ought to have ten shillings a bottle, if you please."