“Of course it is. Take some more whiskey. Plenty more where that came from.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Saul, taking up bottle and glass, as they sat together in the handsomely furnished old study at The Mynns. “Jealous? Ridiculous, when the old man had settled beforehand that you were to marry her. I say, old chap,” continued Saul, resting the neck of the bottle on the rim of the glass, and looking across the table with a leer, “how are you getting on with her?”
“What’s that to you? Take some whiskey and another cigar,” said the other roughly.
“Oh, beg pardon. Didn’t know I was touching on dangerous ground,” said Saul. “I’m mum.”
They had both been drinking far more than they could bear sensibly, for Saul had dined there that night, and the wine had been pretty abundant both during and after the dinner. Then they had adjourned to the study to smoke, have coffee and brandy, and then the whiskey had become the order of the night.
“Well,” said the host, “why don’t you help yourself and pass the bottle?”
“Because it’s empty,” said Saul, pushing the bottle from him.
“Oh, we’ll soon cure that,” said the young man, rising and going to a cabinet, out of one of whose drawers he took a couple of large keys. “Been down in the cellar, I suppose?”
“I? Never,” said Saul.
“Then you shall come now. It will surprise you.”