“If the matter ended with the price, there would not be so much harm done,” retorted Latham.
“Very few know I ever touch a drop.”
“But those who know are your nearest and best friends, or should be.”
“Oh, well! the best of us are moulded out of faults;” the other eyed him fixedly.
“And these faults have a tendency to produce blindness. I believe you fail to see that your morbid cravings for drink and fame are making your domestic life trite and dull—more than that, miserable. You are losing sight of home-life in this false fever of ambition, and,” he added gravely, “grieved, ashamed I am to say it.”
“This is startling, to say the least of it,” Robert exclaimed, as he nervously thrummed the desk by his side. “Here I have been imagining myself the model husband. True, I drink occasionally.”
“You mean, occasionally you do not drink,” Marrion interrupted.
“Look here, Latham; if this came from another than you, I should say it is none of your —— business.”
“Say it to me, if you feel so disposed. I only speak the truth.”