.

But Loring's overstrung mood sensed this maternal indulgence, and it
infuriated him still further.

"You've got me mixed with your dear Bobby, haven't you?" he asked
sneeringly.

"Oh, Morris!"

She drew back, flushing even over her neck and arms. Anger as well as
pain drove her blood.

"Well--you used just the tone you'd use to a youngster who'd been
stealing jam," he said sulkily.

Sophy stood playing with the fan of white feathers. Life seemed a
nightmare to her just then. This rude, sullen boy who was yet her
husband made her feel as if all the gods of Malice were watching her.
She could almost hear the Olympian titter go round the room. She tried
to think of some way of lifting their life out of this horrid,
commonplace quagmire into which it had slipped so suddenly--and it was
as if their life were some huge, smooth, handleless vessel upon which
she could not get a grip.

"He isn't himself--this isn't the real Morris----" her thought sanely
reminded her. "This is Whiskey...."

She lifted her slight figure with a sudden movement of determination.

"Morris, dear," she said, "I'm not going to let you quarrel with me....
Good-night."

She went swiftly by him into her bedroom. He longed to catch her arms
and stop her as she went by, but he did not dare. He turned on his heel
and went back into the drawing-room. The butler was clearing away the
tray of liqueurs and whiskey.

"Hold on a moment, Jennings," said Loring. He took another stiff drink.
As often happens, this lost dram of whiskey wrought a totally different
mood in him. Within five minutes his anger had merged into a wild
impulse of desire. He wondered now that he could have been so curt with
his Selene. He understood as in a flash of revelation why she had
objected to that "rotten dance." He wanted to tell her so with devouring
kisses. He waited until the servants had withdrawn, then went to her
bedroom door.

"Who is it?" came her voice.

"I ... Endymion," he murmured.

He was ablaze with love and repentance and--whiskey, but he was still
not in the least what could be called "drunk."

"Come in," said Sophy. Her heart failed her. Was he coming to have his
quarrel out? She felt quite numb--lifeless--as though made of wood. Her
maid had undressed her and plaited her long hair for the night. She was
sitting before the fire in her white dressing-gown. Her eyes looked very
sad to him in her quiet face. He came and threw himself on his knees