He sat down in an armchair, and closed his eyes. In a few minutes the strong spirit began to have its effect on him. The fire crept along his veins, he felt his nerves tingling.
"It's because I've not touched it for so long," he said. "A few months ago I should not have known I had tasted a drop like this."
He drained the glass to the bottom, and poured out more. For two hours he remained there, drinking, and brooding, and trying to forget.
Presently he arose, and went down to the smoking-room. He walked steadily, but he never remembered whisky to affect him as it was affecting him now. He wanted companionship; the whisky had destroyed all desire for privacy. On entering the room, he saw that the men who had gathered there were greatly excited. He had expected that some one would pretend to commiserate with him on the postponement of his marriage, but to his surprise no one seemed to heed him.
"Ah, MacGregor," he said, to a young Scotchman, whom he knew slightly, "the devil hasn't claimed you yet, then. But trust a Scotchman to outwit even the devil."
"Leicester, is that you?" said the Scotchman. "I heard you were off for your honeymoon; but I suppose even happy bridegrooms have to submit to General Elections."
"General Elections—what do you mean?"
"What do I mean? Don't you know?"
"Know what?"
The Scotchman laughed.