She drew back. "Yes," she said in a low voice, half to herself. "Yes, I believe it is." There was silence for a long time, then she asked quietly:
"What do you think I ought to do?"
"Leave him—if you love him," replied Drumley.
"What else can you do?. . . Stay on and complete his ruin?"
"And if I go—what?"
"Oh, you can do any one of many things. You can——"
"I mean—what about him?"
"He will be like a crazy man for a while. He'll make that a fresh excuse for keeping on as he's going now. Then he'll brace up, and I'll be watching over him, and I'll put him to work in the right direction. He can't be saved, he can't even be kept afloat as long as you are with him, or within reach. With you gone out of his life—his strength will return, his self-respect can be roused. I've seen the same thing in other cases again and again. I could tell you any number of stories of——"
"He does not care for me?"
"In one way, a great deal. But you're like drink, like a drug to him. It is strange that a woman such as you, devoted, single-hearted, utterly loving, should be an influence for bad. But it's true of wives also. The best wives are often the worst. The philosophers are right. A man needs tranquillity at home."