"Thank you," Mr. Ridley was able to say, "but I do not take wine."
His voice was not clear and manly, but unsteady and weak.

"Oh, excuse me," said the gentleman, setting down the glass quickly.
"I was not aware of that." He stood as if slightly embarrassed for a
moment, and then, turning to a clergyman who stood close by, said:

"Will you take a glass of wine with me, Mr. Elliott?"

An assenting smile broke into Mr. Elliott's face, and he reached for
the glass which Mr. Ridley had just refused.

"Something very choice," said the host.

The clergyman tasted and sipped with the air of a connoisseur.

"Very choice indeed, sir," he replied. "But you always have good
wine."

Mrs. Ridley drew her hand in her husband's arm and leaned upon it.

"If it is to be had," returned the host, a little, proudly; "and I
generally know where to get it. A good glass of wine I count among
the blessings for which one may give thanks--wine, I mean, not
drugs."

"Exactly; wine that is pure hurts no one, unless, indeed, his
appetite has been vitiated through alcoholic indulgence, and even
then I have sometimes thought that the moderate use of strictly pure