He reached out his bandaged right hand to take the glass. Dolores darted toward him, crying out shrilly in horrified protest: "Stop! stop! Mr. Blake! Think what you're doing!"
"I know what I'm doing," he said taking the glass and facing her with a smile that brought tears of pity to her eyes. "Your mother is right. I'm in your cousin's way. I'm going to get out of her way, and I'm going to do it in a fashion that'll rid her of me for keeps. Hell is nearer than Alaska."
"Wait! wait!" she cried, as he raised the glass to his lips. "For her sake, don't. Wait!"
"For her sake!" he rejoined, still with that heart-rending smile.
"Here's to her and to him—congratulations!"
He tossed down the wine at a swallow before she could clutch his upraised arm.
She turned upon Ashton, in a fury of scorn and anger. "You—you beast!"
"Why, what's the matter?" he protested, feigning innocence. "What's the harm in a glass of fizz?"
"You knew!" she cried, pressing upon him so fiercely that he gave back. "You knew what it means for him to drink anything—a single drop! You scoundrel!"
"There, now, Miss Dolores!" soothed Blake, patting her on the shoulder. "What's the use of telling him what he is? He knows it as well as we do. Anyhow, I didn't have to take the drink. I'm the only one to blame."
"Oh, Mr. Blake! how could you? How could you?" she cried.