“What other stage?”
“The—drunken stage!” Lilith answered.
He hated her at that moment. A fury of anger rushed through his veins. He leaped from his seat and paced the path with impetuous steps. With the cane in his hand he smote fiercely at the encircling shrubs. All the lethargy of the past months disappeared; he was alive again, smartingly alive, face to face with his shame.
“Who dares to say that I am drunk? It is a lie! When have you seen me drunk?”
“Should I have said ‘drugged’? I’m sorry. I’m so ignorant, you see. I didn’t know. Of course, if you say so, there is a difference.”
He swung away from her, and entering the hotel mounted the stairs to his own room. In his present condition of mind he dared not—literally dared not—trust himself within sight of his fellows. Up and down the quiet room he paced, like a wild animal in its cage, his mind seething with rage and indignation against his wife, against the world, against himself. It was as though a bandage had fallen, and his sleep-ridden eyes were suddenly galvanised into life. He looked back along the sloping path and perceived how far he had fallen...
It was nearing the time for his next injection. Automatically he took the tabloids from the bottle, and carried them across the room to dissolve them in a glass of water. As he did so, he passed the window and caught sight of his wife’s figure seated in the same position as that in which he had left her ten minutes before. How young she looked! Almost a child in her simple white frock. The sun shone down on her flaxen locks, on one tiny hand extended on the seat by her side. Something gripped at the man’s heart at the sight of that hand; it looked so small, so helpless, so appealing. The poor girl! On her honeymoon! What a bitter disillusionment must be hers! With a sudden sweeping movement his hand flew outward, and the tabloids hurled through the air and buried themselves in the grass below. The next moment Lowther himself descended to the garden, and seated himself by his wife’s side.
“Lilith,” he said humbly, “I’m sorry! I was a beast to speak to you as I did, but you know a man doesn’t like interference. Forgive me, like a good girl, and—I’ll tell you something in return! It was time for my morphia, but I’ve not taken it. I’m going out with you instead... Shall we start?”
She lifted her eyes and looked at him. It seemed to him that he looked upon a new woman. Her eyes were no longer light, but dark and shining. They were bent upon him with an expression which sent the blood rushing through his veins. There was triumph in that look, and an immense, unutterable relief, but there was tenderness also, the tenderness of a mother towards a struggling child. The remembrance of that look remained with Lowther and helped him through the inevitable discomforts of the next hours. Lilith spoke but little; he was thankful to her for her silence, but once and again when his restlessness grew acute, she slipped her hand through his arm and pushed it forward, so that her fingers clasped his wrist. The little hand was warm to the touch. It was as though some vital force passed from her veins to his, calming, invigorating.
Only once did Lilith touch on the subject of politics. She asked her husband what was likely to be the predominant question of the next session. He told her that it would be the Land Bill, long deferred, but inevitable: a Bill on which the House was sharply divided, which would call forth a heat of argument. He answered curtly, with an evident distaste, and she never renewed the subject. Lowther thanked Providence for a wife with tact.