"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.
"So you love Miss Challoner," he said genially. "Well, I can hardly wonder at that. To tell you the truth, I fell in love with her myself--merely in an artistic sense, I assure you," added the astute artist with a laugh as he saw the anger in Nestley's face. "She has a lovely face which seems to wear the calm of those old Greek statues. I should like to paint her as Artemis--the inviolate Artemis before she loved Endymion--with the serene light of chastity on her face and the sweetness of night in her eyes. It would be a wonderful picture."
"I wonder you don't ask her to be your model," growled Nestley, sulkily.
"Hardly worth while, for two reasons," replied Beaumont lightly, yet with a suspicion of regret in his tone. "In the first place she would refuse, and in the second, my hand has lost its cunning. One needs to be young and enthusiastic to paint a classical picture. I am of too earthy a nature to have such hopeless visions. Well, are you going to play the part of young Endymion to this moon goddess?"
"No," answered Nestley bitterly, "she won't have anything to do with me."