He thought, with his hot brain, of Anne, and his anger flared like hate.  It was through the child that she had always struck him.  She was a fool to refuse to have more children, to sacrifice her boundless opportunities to strike.

There was a light in the upper window.  He thought of Maggie, walking up and down in the back alley behind the garden, watching the lights of his house burning to the dawn.  The little thing had loved him.  She had given him all she had to give; and he had given her nothing.  He had compelled her to live childless; and he had cast her off.  She had been sacrificed to his passion, and to his wife’s coldness.

Up there he could see Anne’s large shadow moving on the lighted window-blind.  She was dressing for dinner.

Kate was standing on the step, looking for him.  As he came to the study window he saw Nanna behind her, going out of the room.  His servants had been watching him.  Kate was frightened.  Her voice fluttered in her throat as she told him dinner was served.

He sat opposite his wife, with the little oblong table between them.  Twice, sometimes three times a day, as long as they both lived, they would have to sit like that, separated, hostile, horribly conscious of each other.

Anne talked about the Gardners, and he stared at her stupidly, with eyes that were like heavy burning balls under his aching forehead.  He ate little and drank a good deal.  Half an hour after dinner he followed her to the drawing-room, dazed, not knowing clearly where he went.

Anne was seated at her writing-table.  The place was strewn with papers.  She was absorbed in the business of her committee, working off five weeks of correspondence in arrears.

He lay on the sofa and dozed, and she took no notice of him.  He left the room, and she did not hear him go out.

He went to the Hannays.  They were out.  He went on to the Ransomes and found them there.  He found Canon Wharton there, too, drinking whiskey and soda.

“Here’s Wallie,” some one said.  Mrs. Hannay (it was Mrs. Hannay) gave a cry of delight, and made a little rush at him which confused him.  Ransome poured out more whiskey, and gave it to him and to the Canon.  The Canon drank peg for peg with them, while he eyed Majendie austerely.  He used to drink peg for peg with Lawson Hannay, in the days when Hannay drank; now he drank peg for peg with Majendie, eyeing him austerely.

Then the Hannays came between them.  They closed round Majendie and hemmed him in a corner, and kept him there talking to him.  He had no clear idea what they were saying or what he was saying to them; but their voices were kind and they soothed him.  Dick Ransome brought him more whiskey.  He refused it.  He had a sort of idea that he had had enough, rather more, in fact, than was quite good for him; and ladies were in the room.  Ransome pressed him, and Lawson Hannay said something to Ransome; he couldn’t tell what.  He was getting drowsy and disinclined to answer when people spoke to him.  He wished they would let him alone.