Among,
these acquaintances was a handsome, gentlemanly, affable young man,
named Bland, who gradually intruded himself into his confidence.
Bland never drank to excess, and never seemed inclined to sensual
indulgences. He had, moreover, a way of moralizing that completely
veiled his true quality from the not very penetrating Martin Green,
whose shrewdness and knowledge of character were far less acute than
he, in his self-conceit, imagined.
One evening, instead of going with his sister to the house of a
friend, where a select company of highly-intelligent ladies and
gentleman were to meet, and pass an evening together, Martin excused
himself under the pretence of an engagement, and lounged away to an
eating and drinking saloon, there to spend an hour in smoking,
reading the newspapers, and enjoying a glass of ale, the desire for
which was fast growing into a habit. Strong and safe as he imagined
himself, the very fact of preferring the atmosphere of a drinking or
billiard saloon to that in which refined and intellectual people
breathe, showed that he was weak and in danger.
He was sitting with a cigar in his mouth, and a glass of ale beside
him, reading with the air of a man who felt entirely satisfied with
himself, and rather proud than ashamed of his position and
surroundings, when his pleasant friend, Mr.
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