When I had said it all, and had paused, looking anxiously at her, she asked:—
“How long have you known about him? Did he”—she indicated the room across the hall with a slight movement of her head—“tell you?”
I explained to her that I had been with Crocker on the ship and at Yokohama, and that he himself had talked to me of his difficulties.
This surprised her, I could see, but she made no comment regarding it. Her next question was uttered with hesitation:—
“Was he—did he seem—”
I caught her drift. “To-day, you mean?”
She nodded, with compressed lips.
“He has been pretty bad, but I really think he is sobering up. When I left him, he seemed to have himself under control. And he gave me his word that he would be sober at two, when I go back.”
She seemed to be musing, in a depressed fashion. Then she glanced up, met my eye, and tried to look brighter. “The trouble with him is,” she said, “you can never be sure.”
“I know,” I replied, “but I could n't refuse to give him three hours—less than three hours. You see, dear, there is no pressure I could bring upon him. I have n't even the advantage of physical strength. And, really, you know, when you come right down to it, my whole position was the weakest possible—I had absolutely no right to talk to him like that.”