the way when
Cecil was outrageous.

The others arrived. Lady Wychcote joined them. Bobby, who was fast
asleep, was taken straight to the nursery. Gaynor waited at the door for
orders.

"Will you go to your room at once, Cecil, or stay with us a little
while?" asked Sophy.

"Think I'll just have a nip of tea first," said Chesney. "Mind you make
it strong--no slops, please."

He turned to Gerald.

"They simply brim me with slops now, old boy."

Why he felt so amicably towards Gerald he could not have said. His elder
brother usually "got on his nerves." He had never been fond of him, even
when they were lads. To-night, though, somehow "good old Gerald" seemed
to appeal to him. He found his lank, dark face and shy eyes rather
touching. Noticing this, Gerald, on his part, had a nervous feeling that
his brother might be going to die, in spite of his apparent strength at
the moment. It was so highly unnatural, this excessive cordiality of
tone and manner.

Sophy, too, was unpleasantly struck by Cecil's manner to Gerald. She
felt sure now that the morphine was accountable for it--that she and
Gaynor had given him too much. She felt scared--and very tired. The
stillness of the country after London and the train was like a louder
roar of occult menace. When she handed him his cup, Chesney gulped the
hot, black tea eagerly. He was at the exact point in the effect of that
half-grain dose when he craved stimulant. He drank this cup, then
another. The heat was grateful to that _fade_ feeling of his stomach,
but what he really thirsted for was the more biting burn of raw spirit.
Suddenly the floor beneath his feet seemed to become transparent and he
could see as though they were actually visible to him the well-stocked
wine-cellars of Dynehurst. There was a special brand of cognac stored
there--an 1820 vintage, smooth, mellow, powerful--a liquid that was like
flame tempered in magic vats. He could taste it, as though a round
mouthful actually stung his palate with its smooth, fiery globule. He
determined to have a draught of it. How? The morphia cunning pointed out
the way. All at once he slipped sideways in his chair, letting the cup
drop from his hand. His head fell back. His lip lifted, showing the dry
teeth. He looked unspeakably ghastly in the huge limpness of his
slackened figure. Sophy and Gaynor ran to him. Gerald also started
forward, but his mother caught his arm.

"Wait!" she said sharply. "They know what to do