Wine, in the house of Mr. Manley, was used almost as freely as water.  It was, with brandy, an invariable accompaniment of the dinner-table, and no evening passed without its being served around.  Haley’s refusal to touch it, was at first thought singular by Clara; but she soon ceased to observe the omission, and the servant soon learned in no case to present him the decanter.  George Manley, however, could not tolerate Haley’s temperate habits, because he thought his abstinence a mere whim, and bantered him upon it whenever occasion offered.  At last, he aroused Clara’s mind into opposition, and incited her to make an effort to induce her lover to drink.

“What’s the use of my doing it, brother?” she asked, when he first alluded to it.  “His not drinking does no harm to any one.”

“If it don’t, it makes him appear very singular.  No matter who is here—­no matter on what occasion, he must adhere to his foolish resolution.  People will begin to think, after awhile, that he’s some reformed drunkard, and is afraid to taste a drop of any kind of liquor.”

“How can you talk so, George?” Clara said, with a half-offended air.

“So it will appear, Clara; and you can’t help it, unless you laugh him out of his folly.”

“I don’t wish to say anything to him about it.”

“You’re afraid.”

“No, I am not, George.”

“Yes, you are.”

“What am I afraid of?”

“Why, you’re afraid that you won’t succeed.”

“Indeed, then, and I am not.  A mere notion like that I could easily prevail on him to give up.  I should be sorry, indeed, if I had not that much influence over him.”

“You’ll find it a pretty hard notion to beat out of him, I can tell you.  I’ve seen half a dozen young men try for an hour by all kinds of means to induce him to taste wine; but it was no use.  He was immovable.”

“I don’t care;—­he couldn’t refuse me, if I set myself about it.”

“He could, and he would, Clara.”

“I don’t believe a word of it.”

“Try him, then.”

“I don’t see any use in it.  Let him enjoy his total-abstinence! if he wishes to.”

“I knew you were afraid.”

“Indeed, I am not, then.”

“Yes, you are.”

“It’s no such thing.”

“Try him, then.”

“I will, then, since it’s come to that.”

“He’ll be too much for you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.  I’ll manage him.”

“How?”

“Why, I’ll insist on his taking a glass of that delightful champaign with me, which you sent home yesterday.”

“Suppose he declines?”

“I won’t take his refusal.  He shall take a glass with me.”

“We’ll see, little sis’.  I’ll bet on Haley.”—­And so saying, the young man turned away laughing at the success of his scheme.

That evening, towards nine o’clock, as Haley sat conversing with Clara, a servant entered the room as usual with bottles and glasses.  George Manley was promptly on his feet, to cut the cork and “pop” the champaign, which he did, while the servant stood just before Clara and her lover.