Because Alice and John did not drink it, she
had always at first, without other reason, done the same; and
she was determined not to forsake their example now. She took
no notice of the glass of wine, though she had ceased to see
anything else in the room, and went on, seemingly as before,
eating her biscuit, though she no longer knew how it tasted.
"Why don't you drink your wine, Ellen?"
"I do not wish any, Sir."
"Don't you like it?"
"I don't know, Sir; I have never drunk any."
"No! Taste it and see."
"I would rather not, Sir, if you please. I don't care for it."
"Taste it, Ellen!"
This command was not to be disobeyed. The blood rushed to
Ellen's temples as she just touched the glass to her lips, and
set it down again.
"Well?" said Mr. Lindsay.
"What, Sir?"
"How do you like it?"
"I like it very well, Sir, but I would rather not drink it."
"Why?"
Ellen coloured again at this exceedingly daring question, and
answered as well as she could, that she had never been
accustomed to it, and would rather not.
"It is of no sort of consequence what you have been accustomed
to," said Mr. Lindsay. "You are to drink it all, Ellen."
Ellen dared not disobey. When the biscuits and wine were
disposed of, Mr. Lindsay drew her close to his side, and
encircling her fondly with his arms, said —
"I shall leave you now for an hour or two, and you must amuse
yourself as you can.
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