"She may be," the doctor said. "And you were happy, Julian."
The tea had certainly cleared the boy's brain. His manner was more sensible, and the heavy sensuality had gone from his eyes. Though he still looked haggard and wretched, he was no longer the mere wreck of vice he had seemed when he drifted into the little room out of the fog.
"Was I?" he said slowly. "It seems a devil of a time ago."
The doctor's heart warmed to these two young creatures, children to him, yet who had seen so much, gone so far down into the depths that lie beneath the feet of life. He thought in that moment that he could willingly give up all his own peace of mind, success, fame, restfulness of heart, to set them straight up, face to face with strength and purity once more. One was well born, educated, still handsome, the other a so-called lost woman, and originally only a very poor and hopelessly ignorant girl. Yet their community of misery and sorrow put them side by side, like two children who gather violets in a lane together, or drown together in some strong, sad river.
"It is not so long, Julian," he said. "Only before Valentine's trance."
Julian caught him up quickly.
"Why d'you say that, doctor?"
"Why? Simply because it is truth."
"You're always at that trance. I believe it's just because you told us not to sit again. But there was no harm done."
"You are sure of that?"