It amazed Hallam and disconcerted him enormously when he began to realise that he had lost his grip on himself. He had imagined that he had conquered his vice, that he could keep it under without particular effort. He had believed in himself with an even greater confidence than Esmé had once believed in him: he had relied, with an almost arrogant faith in the power of the human will, on his unaided effort to control his desires. At the time of his marriage he had felt quite sure of himself; otherwise he would never have injured the girl he loved by linking her lot with his. He felt as though he had been guilty of a breach of faith with her; and this thought worried him unceasingly, till he drugged his mind into temporary oblivion and laid up thereby further torment for his sober hours.
The state of things became unendurable, and finally worked to a climax.
A few weeks of restraint on Hallam’s part, of determined and difficult self-discipline, and then his devil got the upper hand once more, and his resolves faded into nothingness before the craving which he could no longer resist.
He fought the demon of desire for a few days with a fierce despair in the knowledge that the thing was too strong for him. With each battle his strength weakened. Realising this he sought diversion, taking Esmé out in the evenings to any entertainment that offered. He feared to be alone. When he was alone his craving for drink was insistent.
And then one fateful night he gave way to his desire, deliberately and without further struggle: he flung his scruples aside and relaxed all effort, as an exhausted swimmer might relax and give up with the shore and safety in sight.
He had been with Esmé to the theatre. The performance had been poor, both in regard to acting and to plot: he had felt extremely bored. And Esmé was tired, and complained of headache. It had been a boisterous day, with a black south-easter raging. The wind gathered force towards evening and blew to a gale, driving the dust before it in swirling clouds of sticky grit. Small stones rattled against the closed windows of the taxi in which they drove; the cushions felt damp and sticky, and the dust penetrated through the cracks.
“What a night to be abroad in!” Hallam said, and observed his wife’s pale face with some concern. “You ought not to have come. It was a silly sort of show, and it’s made your head worse. You should have stayed at home and rested.”
“I’m all right,” she answered brightly; and made an effort to be entertaining during the long drive home. She did not like him to feel bored when he took her out.
But her head ached badly; and she was relieved when the taxi stopped before the house, and Hallam got out and opened the door for her and followed her into the lighted hall. It was good to get inside and shut out the inclement night. The rush of the wind sweeping round the side of the house was terrific. She stood for a moment at the foot of the stairs and listened to it, with her temples throbbing painfully and her nerves jarred with the noise of the warring elements. Hallam shut the front door and bolted it. When he turned round he saw her eyes, dark-ringed in her white face, looking at him gravely with a question in them.
“You get off to bed,” he said. “I’ll lock up and follow you in a few minutes. You look done.”