their rounded stomachs
Westover saw Alan Lynde vaguely making his way with a glass in his hand,
and looking vaguely about for wine; he saw Jeff catch his wandering
eye, and make offer of his bottle, and then saw Lynde, after a moment of
haughty pause, unbend and accept it. His thin face was flushed, and his
hair tossed over his forehead, but Jeff seemed not to take note of that.
He laughed boisterously at something Lynde said, and kept filling his
glass for him. His own color remained clear and cool. It was as if his
powerful physique absorbed the wine before it could reach his brain.

Westover wanted to interfere, and so far as Jeff was concerned he would
not have hesitated; but Lynde was concerned, too, and you cannot save
such a man from himself without offence. He made his way to the young
man, hoping he might somehow have the courage he wanted.

Jeff held up the bottle, and called to him, "Get yourself a glass, Mr.
Westover." He put on the air of a host, and would hardly be denied.
"Know Mr. Westover, Mr. Lynde? Just talking about you," he explained to
Westover.

Alan had to look twice at the painter. "Oh yes. Mr. Durgin,
here--telling me about his place in the mountains. Says you've been
there. Going--going myself in the summer. See his--horses." He made
pauses between his words as some people do when they, try to keep from
stammering.

Westover believed Lynde understood Jeff to be a country gentleman
of sporting tastes, and he would not let that pass. "Yes, it's the
pleasantest little hotel in the mountains."

"Strictly-temperance, I suppose?" said Alan, trying to smile with lips
that obeyed him stiffly. He appeared not to care who or what Jeff was;
the champagne had washed away all difference between them. He went on to
say that he had heard of Jeff's intention of running the hotel himself
when he got out of Harvard. He held it to be damned good stuff.

Jeff laughed. "Your sister wouldn't believe me when I told her."

"I think I didn't mention Miss Lynde," said Alan, haughtily.

Jeff filled his glass; Alan looked at it, faltered, and then drank it
off. The talk began again between the young men, but it left Westover
out, and he had to go away. Whether Jeff was getting Lynde beyond
himself from the love of mischief, such as had prompted him to tease
little children in his boyhood, or was trying to ingratiate himself with
the young fellow through his weakness, or doing him harm out of mere
thoughtlessnes