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 agingly at them. Edmund, on Grace's right hand, seemed entirely absorbed by her, talking in a low voice, and only joining in the general conversation occasionally. Mr. Jerrold and the Vicar were boisterously happy, praising the juicy turkey and drinking freely of the good wine. Wreaths of holly hung against the pannelled walls; dark pictures reflected the ruddy candle shades.

"How invigorating and cheering is this excellent port!" intoned Mr. Ramsey, as they reached the walnuts and raisins. "There is no drink so healthful, and so calculated to bring out the most amiable qualities in one, as wine, taken in moderation, of course. I deplore the taste for whiskey in our country. It comes, I suppose, from our strongly Scotch ancestry. Now, if our working-classes drank light wines, as the French do, it would be better for them."

"Canadian wines are very poor," said Mr. Jerrold. "The summer is so short, even in the Niagara peninsula, that there is very little natural sugar in the grapes. Probably the soil has something to do with it, too. Consequently we have to sweeten the wine with manufactured sugar, which makes it very indigestible. I think the working man is safer with his glass of whiskey."

"Why not beer? The Americans and English drink beer."

"We are a stubborn Northern race," said Edmund. "Beer is too insipid for us."

"I think if a drink could be invented with a flavour like whiskey but without its evil effect, it would very soon supplant it, don't you, Mr. Vale?" said Miss Pearsall, arranging her fingers about the stem of her wine glass.

Vale's dislike of her was turning to hatred. He had an overwhelming desire to shock her, even if in doing it he dis-