iquor into it, put it to his lips and
sucked. Drop by drop it passed over his palate mild, very old, old as
himself, coloured like sunlight, fragrant. To the last drop he drank it,
then hugging the bottle to his shirt-front, he moved snail-like to his
chair, and fell back into its depths. For some minutes he remained there
motionless, the bottle clasped to his chest, thinking: 'This is not the
attitude of a gentleman. I must put it down on the table-on the table;'
but a thick cloud was between him and everything. It was with his hands
he would have to put the bottle on the table! But he could not find
his hands, could not feel them. His mind see-sawed in strophe and
antistrophe: "You can't move!"--"I will move!" "You're beaten"--"I'm not
beat." "Give up"--"I won't." That struggle to find his hands seemed
to last for ever--he must find them! After that--go down--all
standing--after that! Everything round him was red. Then the red cloud
cleared just a little, and he could hear the clock--"tick-tick-tick"; a
faint sensation spread from his shoulders down to his wrists, down his
palms; and yes--he could feel the bottle! He redoubled his struggle to
get forward in his chair; to get forward and put the bottle down. It
was not dignified like this! One arm he could move now; but he could not
grip the bottle nearly tight enough to put it down. Working his whole
body forward, inch by inch, he shifted himself up in the chair till he
could lean sideways, and the bottle, slipping down his chest, dropped
slanting to the edge of the low stool-table. Then with all his might he
screwed his trunk and arms an inch further, and the bottle stood. He had
done it--done it! His lips twitched into a smile; his body sagged back
to its old position. He had done it! And he closed his eyes ....

At half-past eleven the girl Molly, opening the door, looked at him and
said softly: "Sirr! there's some ladies, and a gentleman!" But he did
not answer. And, still holding the door, she whispered out into the
hall:

"He's asleep, miss."

A voice whispered back:

"Oh! Just let me go in, I won't wake him unless he does. But I do want
to show him my dress."

The girl moved aside; and on tiptoe Phyllis passed in. She walked to
where, between the lamp-glow and the fire-glow, she was lighted up.
White satin--her first low-cut dress--the flush of her first supper
party--a gardenia at her breast, another in her fingers! Oh! what a
pity he was asleep! How red