Mrs. Ridley was still a handsome woman, and her husband felt the old pride warming his bosom when he saw her again among brilliant and attractive women and noted the impression she made.  He watched her with something of the proud interest a mother feels for a beautiful daughter who makes her appearance in society for the first time, and his heart beat with liveliest pleasure as he noticed the many instances in which she attracted and held people by the grace of her manner and the charm of her conversation.

“God bless her!” he said in his heart fervently as the love he bore her warmed into fresher life and moved him with a deeper tenderness, and then he made for her sake a new vow of abstinence and set anew the watch and ward upon his appetite.  And he had need of watch and ward.  The wine-merchant’s bill for that evening’s entertainment was over eight hundred dollars, and men and women, girls and boys, all drank in unrestrained freedom.

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. 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.”