'I do not think he will take anything of that kind. He has set his face against accepting your advice.' 'I believe if you were to take a decided tone, he would succumb; if not, you had better ask Dr. Mallison to come down and see him. It will be a costly visit, and money thrown away, as the case is perfectly simple; but I dare say you will not mind that.' 'I should mind nothing if he could be cured. It is horrible to see such ruin of body and mind in one so young,' Ida answered sadly. 'Well, you must see what influence you can exercise over him for his own good. I will call every other day, and hear how you are getting on with him; and if you fail, we must summon Dr. Mallison.' Ida spoke to the butler. It was a hard thing to do, and it seemed to her a kind of treachery against her husband--as if she were inflicting everlasting disgrace upon him in secret, like a midnight assassin, who stabs his victim in the back. Her voice trembled, and her face was deadly pale as she spoke to the butler, an old servant who had been in the household from his boyhood. 'Rogers, I want you to be a little more careful in your arrangements about wine and spirits,' she began, falteringly. 'Mr. Wendover is in a low state of health--suffering from a nervous complaint, in fact; and we fear that he is taking too much brandy. Will you kindly try to prevent it?' 'It will be very difficult, ma'am. Mr. Wendover gives his orders, and he expects to be obeyed.' 'But upon this one point you must not obey him. You can say that you have Lady Palliser's orders that no more brandy is to be brought up from the cellar. I shall tell her that I have told you this.' 'Yes, ma'am. I was afraid too much brandy was being drunk, but it was not my place to mention it,' said Rogers, politely. He would have said the same, perhaps, had the house been on fire. Neither sherry nor champagne was served at dinner that day, and the claret which was offered Mr. Wendover was of a very thin quality. 'I'll take champagne,' he said to the butler. 'There is not any upstairs, sir.' Brian turned angrily upon the man, and Ida, pale but resolute, came to the rescue. 'We do not drink champagne at dinner when we are alone, Brian,' she said; 'and I don't think it is quite fair to Vernie's cellars that Moët should be served every day because you are here. 'Vernon's cellars! Ah, I forgot that we are all here on sufferance, and, that I am drinking Vernon's wine.' 'You may have as much of my champagne as you like,' said Vernie, getting very red; 'but I don't think it does you any good, for you are always so cross afterwards.' Brian looked at the boy with a savage gleam in his eyes, and muttered something, but made no audible reply. 'I'll go back to my chambers to-morrow,' he said: 'I can have a bottle of Moët there without being under an obligation to anybody. Give me some brandy and soda,' he said to the butler; 'I can't drink this verjuice.' 'There is no brandy, sir.'