"Yes."
There was a strange tone in his voice, but he spoke very quietly, as was his custom.
"Ah, perhaps you are a Mohammedan," said Sprague, who accepted Mr. Castlemaine's invitation.
"No, Mr. Sprague, I am not a Mohammedan, as you understand it. I do not take whisky because—well, because a man who was once my friend was ruined through it."
At that moment Olive entered the room, and took a chair close by her father's. She had heard Ricordo's answer to Sprague.
"That's scarcely a reason for refusing a harmless beverage," said Sprague.
"Harmless?" said Ricordo; "well, that is surely a matter of opinion."
"One would have to give up everything in life, on that principle of argument," urged Sprague.
"I do not wish to argue," said Ricordo, "but I will put a case to Mr. Castlemaine. Suppose he had a friend for whom he cared greatly, or for whom some one dear to him cared greatly, and that friend were ruined through alcohol; suppose he ceased to be a man and became a fiend through it, would he offer whisky to his guests?"
Signor Ricordo put the question to his host; but he kept his eyes on Olive, who started as if she had been stung, and then became as pale as death.