peroration he urged his dear brethren, "and more especially those
amongst us who are poor in this world's goods," to beware indeed of that
evil leaven which was sapping the manhood of our nation. Mrs. Dixon cried
after church:

"Oh, Merivale, what a beautiful sermon! How earnest you were. I hope it
will do good."

Mr. Dixon swallowed his port with great decorum, but his wife fuddled
herself every evening with cheap sherry. She was quite unaware of the
fact, and sometimes wondered in a dim way why she always had to scold the
children after dinner. And so strange things sometimes happened in the
nursery, and now and then the children looked queerly at one another
after a red-faced woman had gone out, panting.

Lucian knew nothing of his accuser's trials, but he was not long in
hearing of his own intoxication. The next time he went down to Caermaen
he was hailed by the doctor.

"Been drinking again today?"

"No," said Lucian in a puzzled voice. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, well, if you haven't, that's all right, as you'll be able to take a
drop with me. Come along in?"

Over the whisky and pipes Lucian heard of the evil rumors affecting his
character.

"Mrs. Dixon assured me you were staggering from one side of the street to
the other. You quite frightened her, she said. Then she asked me if I
recommended her to take one or two ounces of spirit at bedtime for the
palpitation; and of course I told her two would be better. I have my
living to make here, you know. And upon my word, I think she wants it;
she's always gurgling inside like waterworks. I wonder how old Dixon can
stand it."

"I like 'ounces of spirit,'" said Lucian. "That's taking it medicinally,
I suppose. I've often heard of ladies who have to 'take it medicinally';
and that's how it's done?"

"That's it. 'Dr Burrows won't _listen_ to me': 'I tell him how I dislike
the taste of spirits, but he says they are absolutely _necessary_ for my
constitution': 'my medical man _insists_ on something at bedtime'; that's
the style."

Lucian laughed gently; all these people had become indifferent to him; he
could no longer feel savage indignation at their little hypocrisies and
malignancies. Their voices uttering calumny, and morality, and futility
had become like the thin shrill angry note of a gnat on a summer evening;
he had his own thoughts and his own life, and he passed on without
heeding.

"You come down to Caermaen pretty often, don't you?" said the doct