"No! you couldn't do that," put in Lord James.
Blake smiled at him, and paused to grasp again his broken thread of thought. In the fatal moment when his wakeful consciousness was diverted, and before Lord James could interpose to avert the act, his subconsciousness automatically caused his left hand to raise the glass which it held to his lips.
Before he was aware of what he was doing, he had taken a sip of the wine. An instant afterward the glass shattered on the floor beside his chair, and he clutched at the edge of the table, his face convulsed and his eyes glaring with the horror of what he had done.
"Hell!" he gasped.
Genevieve rose and started back from the table, shocked and frightened by what she mistook for an outburst of rage or madness. Lord James rose almost as quickly, no less shocked and quite as uncertain as to what his friend would do.
[Illustration: His jaw closed fast,—and in the same instant his outstretched hand smashed down upon the wine glass]
"Tom!" he called warningly, and he laid his hand on Blake's shoulder.
Almost beside himself in the paroxysm of fear and craving that had stricken his face white and half choked him with seeming rage, Blake shook off the restraining hand, and gasped hoarsely at Genevieve: "Wine!—here—in your house! God! Shoved into my hand! Smell wasn't enough—must taste it! God! Tough deal!"
"Lord Avondale!" cried Genevieve, and she turned to leave the room, furiously indignant.
"Gad! old man!" murmured Lord James, staring uncertainly from Blake to the angry girl, for once in his life utterly disconcerted and bewildered. He was unable to think, and the impulse of his breeding urged him to accompany Genevieve. After a moment's vacillation, he sprang about and hastened with her from the room.