Beaumont laughed and lighted the cigarette he had just made.
"You were an idiot," he said, politely. "When you found drink did you harm you should have left it off."
"Ah! you think that an easy task?"
"It would be--to me."
"To you!" cried Nestley, vehemently, "yes, a practised man of the world like you has his nerves and passions well under control. I was young, inexperienced, enthusiastic, you were cool, calculating and cynical. You drank three times as much as I ever did, but the effect on our natures was different You were looked upon as a sober man, I--God help me!--as a drunkard!"
The artist smiled sarcastically.
"Well," he said, coolly, "all this was five years ago--why are you so disagreeable now?"
"I cannot forget how you tried to ruin me."
"Humph!" observed Beaumont, walking to the door, "there's nothing like putting our sins on other people's shoulders; it saves such a lot of unnecessary trouble. However, I don't wish to argue any longer. You reject my friendship, so I've nothing more to say. I daresay you'll be gone by the time I rise in the morning, so, as we're not likely to meet one another again in this life, I'll say good-bye."
He opened the door just as Nestley was about to answer him, when suddenly there was a noise--the voices of men laughing uproariously, then the sharp bark of a dog, and in another moment a large black cat, with her fur all on end, darted into the room, followed by an eager fox-terrier in a state of great excitement.