"True, oh king; but I've had the disease badly enough--it's all dead and done with now. I've left Venus for Plutus, and I think Mercury, the god of tricksters, has some of my worship." Dr. Nestley made no remark, being occupied with his own sad thoughts, so Beaumont said nothing more, and they walked along to the inn silently. On arriving there they went into the parlour, and Nestley took his seat near the window, staring idly out at the dusty road, while Beaumont ordered a slight luncheon, and a bottle of champagne. Job Kossiter's idea of wine was a very vague one, as he himself habitually drank beer, but in deference to Beaumont's wishes, he sent over to Duxby and obtained a few dozen cases of champagne, whose excellence satisfied even the fastidious artist. The table being laid and the luncheon brought in, Beaumont filled two tumblers with champagne, one for himself, and the other he placed by Nestley's plate. The young doctor, being wrapped up in gloomy thought, did not perceive this, and, when he took his seat at the table, had no idea that the glass at his elbow contained wine instead of water. He tried to eat two or three mouthfuls of food, but not succeeding, took up the glass to drink, and so preoccupied was he that it was not until he had swallowed a mouthful that he perceived what it was. Replacing the glass on the table immediately, he glared angrily at Beaumont, who, feigning not to observe his annoyance, went on eating his luncheon with great enjoyment. "Why did you give me champagne?" asked Nestley harshly. "You know I only drink water." "I know you're an idiot," retorted Beaumont coolly, "and don't know what's good for you. In your present state of health a glass of champagne will do you no harm." "You forget the harm drink has done me already." "Five years ago," said the artist mockingly. "You've been a teetotaller for five years, so I think you are entitled to a little indulgence now. Go on, drink it up like a man." "No," replied Nestley resolutely, and he turned his head away. "I will not drink." "Very well," said Beaumont indifferently. "Please yourself." His unhappy friend looked again at the amber-coloured wine in the glass, and felt half inclined to yield. After all, he had not touched liquor of any sort for five long years, and did not feel as a rule inclined to take it, but now the nights of watching by the bedside of the old squire had worn him out physically, and the disdain of Una had made him wretched mentally, so he half determined to take this one glass to cheer him up. His good angel, however, came to his aid at this critical moment, and turning his head away with a shudder, he went on making a pretence of eating. Beaumont, who had watched him narrowly all this time, saw the struggle that was going on in the young man's mind, but with true craftiness, pretended to take no notice, satisfied that his victim was gradually being lured into the snare so artfully laid.