The elder man spoke quietly enough, and there was not a shade of interest in his voice as he answered the question. But Katharine, who was watching him unconsciously, saw a momentary change pass over his face. He glanced at Crowdie with an expression that was almost savage. The dark, weary eyes gleamed fiercely for an instant, the great veins swelled at the lean temples, the lips parted and just showed the big, sharp teeth. Then it was all over again and the kindly look came back. Crowdie was not smiling, and the tone in which he had asked the question showed plainly enough that it was not meant as a jest. Indeed, the painter himself seemed unusually serious. But he had not been looking at Griggs, nor had Hester seen the sudden flash of what was very like half-suppressed anger. Katharine wondered more and more, and the little incident diverted her thoughts again from the suggestion which had given her pain. “Lots of men drink water altogether, nowadays,” observed Crowdie. “It’s a mistake, of course, but it’s much more agreeable.” “A mistake!” exclaimed Katharine, very much astonished. “Oh, yes--it’s an awful mistake,” echoed Griggs, in the most natural way possible. “I’m not so sure,” said Hester Crowdie, in a tone of voice which showed plainly that the idea was not new to her. “I don’t understand,” said Katharine, unable to recover from her surprise. “I always thought that--” she checked herself and looked across at the ferns, for her heart was hurting her again. She suddenly realized, also, that considering what had happened on the previous night, it was very tactless of Crowdie not to change the subject. But he seemed not at all inclined to drop it yet. “Yes,” he said. “In the first place, total abstinence shortens life. Statistics show that moderate consumers of alcoholic drinks live considerably longer than drunkards and total abstainers.” “Of course,” assented Griggs. “A certain amount of wine makes a man lazy for a time, and that rests his nerves. We who drink water accomplish more in a given time, but we don’t live so long. We wear ourselves out. If we were not the strongest generation there has been for centuries, we should all be in our graves by this time.” “Do you think we are a very strong generation?” asked Crowdie, who looked as weak as a girl. “Yes, I do,” answered Griggs. “Look at yourself and at me. You’re not an athlete, and an average street boy of fifteen or sixteen might kill you in a fight. That has nothing to do with it. The amount of actual hard work, in your profession, which you’ve done--ever since you were a mere lad--is amazing, and you’re none the worse for it, either. You go on, just as though you had begun yesterday. Heaving weights and rowing races is no test of what a man’s strength will bear in everyday life. You don’t need big muscles and strong joints. But you need good nerves and enormous endurance. I consider you a very strong man--in most ways that are of any use.”