"This isn't like other illnesses, madam. I have only to give him a large dose, and it will put him normal."
"But Doctor Carfew's orders?"
The man looked sadly and wisely at her.
"He would not object, I'm sure, madam, seeing the object that is in view."
"And it will not injure him?"
"Oh, no, madam! At the worst, it will only delay things a bit."
Sophy leaned her head on her hand. She felt mortally tired—soul, mind, and body.
"Very well, then, Gaynor," she said, in a low voice, "at nine o'clock I will come to Mr. Chesney's room."
When she entered her husband's room that evening, she saw that he was expecting her. His face lighted up as she came in, and he held out one hand towards her. His eyes showed the dulled surface and contracted pupils that she now knew meant a recent dose of morphia. Otherwise, his appearance was normal. But when he began to speak she noted the dryness of the mouth which she felt must also be produced by the drug. He was propped upon several large pillows, as on that evening some two weeks ago, and there were books and writing materials around him. She was surprised to see a glass of champagne on the little table, remembering what Gaynor had said about Dr. Carfew's commands in that respect. Then she realised that the man was merely violating instructions on this occasion in order to put her husband in a fitting condition for their talk.