“I’m as sober as you are, you fool!” he said. “Whatever else it is, it’s not that.”
Hester looked at him again. He was right. However unsteady his gait might be, his speech was not the speech, his eyes were not the eyes, of a drunken man.
“Is she in her room for the night?”
Hester made the affirmative sign.
Geoffrey ascended the st airs, swaying from side to side. He stopped at the top, and beckoned to Hester to join him. He went on into his room; and, signing to her to follow him, closed the door.
He looked at the partition wall—without approaching it. Hester waited, behind him.
“Is she asleep?” he asked.
Hester went to the wall; listened at it; and made the affirmative reply.
He sat down. “My head’s queer,” he said. “Give me a drink of water.” He drank part of the water, and poured the rest over his head. Hester turned toward the door to leave him. He instantly stopped her. “I can’t unwind the strings. I can’t lift up the paper. Do it.”
She sternly made the sign of refusal: she resolutely opened the door to leave him. “Do you want your Confession back?” he asked. She closed the door, stolidly submissive in an instant; and crossed to the partition wall.