"Yes, an awful cub," replied Beaumont, insolently. "I taught you all you know." "You did," retorted Nestley, bitterly, rising to his feet. "You taught me things of which I had better have remained ignorant. I had a little money----" "Fairly won by me at cards," murmured Beaumont, coolly. "I didn't mind that," said Nestley, who was walking up and down the room in a state of uncontrollable agitation, "you had that, and welcome--one must pay for one's experience, I suppose. No; it was not the money, but I did blame you for teaching me to drink wine to excess." "I!" said Basil, in surprise, "why, I never drink wine to excess, so how could I teach you?" "Ah!" replied the other, significantly, stopping in his walk, "your head is too strong--mine is not. I was a clever boy, and likely to do well in my profession. You met me when I came up to London--liked me for some inexplicable reason, and undertook to show me what you called life. With my weak constitution and highly-strung organization drink was like poison to me--it turned me into a maniac. I did not care for it--I had no hereditary love for alcohol, but you were always at my elbow, tempting me to have another glass. My weaker will was overcome by your stronger one. I took drink, and it made me mad, causing me to commit a thousand follies for which I was no more responsible than a child. I got into the habit of taking drinks all day. You encouraged me--God knows why, except for your own selfish ends. Had I remained with you, I would have been in a lunatic asylum or in the gutter but, thank God, my better angel prevailed, and I broke the spell you held over me. Leaving you and the mad life I was then leading, I became a total abstainer, at what cost I need not tell you--no one can ever understand the struggles and agonies I underwent, but I conquered in the end. For five years I have not touched a drop of liquor, and now--now that I have subdued the devil that once possessed me I meet you once more--you who so nearly ruined me, body and soul." Beaumont did not move during this long speech, delivered with intense emotion by Nestley, but at its conclusion shrugged his shoulders and addressed himself to the task of making another cigarette. "A very excellent lecture," he said, scoffingly, "very excellent, indeed, but quite wrong. I did meet you in London, and out of kindness introduced you into decent society, but I certainly did not teach you to make a beast of yourself, as you did!" "You were always urging me to drink." "Hospitality only. I asked you to drink when I did, yet I did not make a fool of myself." "True! You only made a fool of me. What you could take and I could take were two very different things. What was drunkenness in me was sobriety in you." Beaumont laughed and lighted the cigarette he had just made. "You were an idiot," he said, politely. "When you found drink did you harm you should have left it off." "Ah! you think that an easy task?" "It would be--to me."