"But there are a dozen questions I want to ask you—and my own case?"
"I am sending you some medicine, and we will talk more next time. And, if you like, I will send you a paper upon the Psychology of the Alcoholic, which I read the other day before the Society for the Study of Alcoholism. It may interest you. But don't necessarily take it all for gospel! I'm only feeling my way."
"I'll compare it with such experiences as I have had—though of course I'm not what you'd call an inebriate." There was a lurking undercurrent of suspicion creeping into his voice once more.
"Of course not! Did I ever say so, Mr. Lothian! But what you propose will be of real value to me, if I may have your conclusions."
Lothian was flattered. He would show this great scientist how entirely capable he could be of understanding and appreciating his researches. He would collaborate with him. It would be new and exhilarating!
"I'll make notes," he replied, "and please use them as you will!"
The doctor rose. "Thanks," he answered. "It will be a help. But what we really require is an alcoholic De Quincey to detail in his graphic manner the memories of his past experiences—a man who has the power and the courage to lay open the cravings and the writhings of his former slavery, and to compare them with his emancipated self."
Lothian started. When the kindly, keen-faced man had gone, he lay long in thought.
In the afternoon Mary came to him. "Do you mind if I leave you for an hour or two, dear?" she asked. "I have some things to get and I thought I would drive into Wordingham."
"Of course not, I shall be quite all right."