"Go on. What are the consequences, when they misuse it?"
"When people drink too much bad brandy of course—but wine like this never hurt anybody."
Dolly thought, it had hurt her that day; but she could not trust her voice to say it. Her lips trembled, her beautiful eyes filled, she was obliged to wait. And how, there before her father whom the fruit of the vine had certainly hurt grievously, and before Mr. St. Leger who knew as much and had seen it, could she put the thing in words? Her father had chosen his time cruelly. And where was his promise? Dolly fought and swallowed and struggled with herself; and tried to regain command of voice.
"It's a narrow view, ray dear," said Mr. Copley, filling his glass again, to Dolly's infinite horror; "a narrow view. Well-bred people do not hold it. It is always a mistake to set yourself against the world. The world is generally right."
"O father, do you think so?"
"Not a doubt of it," said Mr. Copley, sipping the wine and looking from one to another of the faces in the little group. "Dolly is a foolish girl, Rupert; do not let her persuade you."
"It certainly is not the wine that is to be condemned," said Lawrence, "but the immoderate use of it. That's all."
"What do you call immoderate use of it?" Rupert asked now, putting the question in Dolly's interest.
"More than your head can bear," said Lawrence. "Keep within that limit, and you're all right."
"Suppose your neighbour cannot bear what you can?" said Dolly, looking at him. "And suppose your example tempts him?"