Mrs. Ridley, without seeming to do so, kept close to her husband
while he was in the supper-room, and he, as if feeling the power of
her protecting influence, was pleased to have her near. The smell of
wine, its sparkle in the glasses, the freedom and apparent safety
with which every one drank, the frequent invitations received, and
the little banter and half-surprised lifting of the eyebrows that
came now and then upon refusal were no light draught on Mr. Ridley's
strength.
"Have you tried this sherry, Mr. Ridley?" said the gentlemanly host,
taking a bottle from the supper-table and filling two glasses. "It
is very choice." He lifted one of the glasses as he spoke and handed
it to his guest. There was a flattering cordiality in his manner
that made the invitation almost irresistible, and moreover he was a
prominent and influential citizen whose favorable consideration Mr.
Ridley wished to gain. If his wife had not been standing by his
side, he would have accepted the glass, and for what seemed good
breeding's sake have sipped a little, just tasting its flavor, so
that he could compliment his host upon its rare quality.
"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.
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