His quick mind had perceived his advantage; in thus dunning him for the cream of the cellar, Michael was playing into his hand.

'One bottle ?' he thought.

'By George, I'll give him two! this is no moment for economy; and once the beast is drunk, it's strange if I don't wring his secret out of him.' With two bottles, accordingly, he returned.

Glasses were produced, and Morris filled them with hospitable grace.
'I drink to you, cousin!' he cried gaily.

'Don't spare the wine-cup in my house.' Michael drank his glass deliberately, standing at the table; filled it again, and returned to his chair, carrying the bottle along with him.
'The spoils of war!' he said apologetically.