“No—it’s not the result of anything especial. I’ve not had at all an unhappy life. I was born gloomy, I suppose—and unlucky, too. You see the trouble is that those things get hold of one’s nerves, and then it becomes a physical affair and not a mere question of will. Men get so far that it would kill them to stop, because they’re used to it. But with me—no, I admit the fact—it is a question of will and nothing else. Just now—oh, well, I’ve talked enough about myself.”
“What—‘just now’? What were you going to say? You wanted to go and drink, just after I left you?”
“How did you guess that?”
“I don’t know. I was sure of it. And—and you didn’t, Jack?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Why not? What stopped you? It was so easy!”
“I felt that I should be a brute if I did—so I didn’t. That’s all. It’s not worth mentioning—only it shows that it is a question of will. I’m all right now—I don’t want it any more. Perhaps I shan’t, for days. I don’t know. It’s a hopeless sort of thing, anyway. Sometimes I’m just on the point of taking an oath. But if I broke it, I should blow my brains out, and I shouldn’t be any better off. So I have the sense not to promise myself anything.”
“Promise me one thing,” said Katharine, thoughtfully. “It’s a thing you can promise—trust me, won’t you?”
“Yes—I promise,” answered Ralston, without hesitation.
“That you will never bind yourself by any oath at all, will you?”