“And you’ve just asked a young girl to marry you!”
Faunce was silent. The older man’s tone was tinged with a contempt that stung him. He seemed to rally his forces, to pull himself together.
“I was a fool to tell you all this—a fool! It got hold of me—I don’t know what I’m doing when it gets hold of me. I came here to ask for something to make me sleep, and I’ve—I’ve stripped my soul naked!”
He was shaking again. The doctor rose and put his hand on the younger man’s shoulder.
“Go over there and lie down on the lounge. I’ll give you something. If you don’t sleep, you’ll presently go to a madhouse. Lie down!”
Faunce stared, at first unyieldingly; but he was exhausted, and long hours of sleeplessness had wrecked his nerves. He turned without a word and threw himself on the lounge, burying his head in his arms. A smothered sob shook him from head to foot.
The doctor, measuring out a dose and approaching him, touched his shoulder sharply. Faunce groaned.
“My God!” he cried wildly. “Why did I do it? Why did I do it?”
The doctor bent down and held the glass to his lips.
“Drink this!” he commanded sharply.