"Take heart. The liquid diet is all a bluff. Kindly note the centerpiece." She saw that the center of the table was occupied by a highly decorated silver wine-cooler--empty. "There it sits," Bob exclaimed, "the little Temple of Bacchus--overgrown with roses. It used to be my shrine and my confessional until I saw the light. Now that I've escaped from the bondage of sin, sickness, and error, I'm giving a triumphal feast upon the altar steps." It was one of his whims. During the meal he made elaborate speeches in the names of his friends. His imaginary guests congratulated him; in empty glasses they toasted the bride, they extolled her beauty, they praised his own gallantry, and vaunted his conquest of the demon rum. As the supper progressed Bob simulated a growing intoxication, while the hired servants looked on as if at the antics of a lunatic. He made it amusing, and Lorelei entered into the spirit of the make-believe. But when they were alone and all traces of the feast had disappeared he swooped down out of the clouds and confessed miserably: "I thought I could kid myself, but I can't. I want a drink. I--WANT--A--DRINK! God! how I want it!" Lorelei went swiftly to him. "The fight is just beginning, Bob. You're doing nobly." "It isn't thirst," he explained, and she saw that same strained uneasiness in his bright eyes. "I'm not THIRSTY--I'm shaky inside. My ego is wabbling on its pins and I'm rattling to pieces. I manage well enough when you're around, but when I'm alone I--remember." She felt him twitch and shiver nervously. "And there are so many places to get booze! Everywhere I look I see a bartender with arms outstretched. When I grit my teeth the damned appetite leaves me alone, but when I'm off my guard it gumshoes in again. I get tired of fighting." Lorelei nodded sympathetically. "That's why it's so hard to reform; one's conscience tires, but temptation is always fresh." "It's not thirst," Bob repeated. "My soul is dried out. I get to thinking late at night. I'm afraid I'm going to quit." "You must keep busy." "I'm going to work." "No, no! Not yet," she cried, quickly. "You must fight it out where I can help." Bob smiled gratefully. "You're a thoroughbred. I promised to let you have your way, and you shall. Even if we lose the patient it will be a dandy operation."