Chilcote leaned back in his place and furtively passed his
hand over his forehead. His mind was possessed by one
consideration--the consideration of himself. He glanced down
the crowded, lighted House to the big glass doors; he glanced
about him at his colleagues, indifferent or interested; then
surreptitiously his fingers strayed to his waistcoat-pocket.
Usually he carried his morphia tabloids with him, but to-day
by a lapse of memory he had left them at home. He knew this,
nevertheless he continued to search, while the need of the
drug rushed through him with a sense of physical sickness. He
lost hold on the business of the House; unconsciously he half
rose from his seat.
The man next him looked up. "Hold your ground, Chilcote," he
said. "Rayforth is drying up."
With a wave of relief Chilcote dropped back into his place.
Whatever the confusion in his mind, it was evidently not
obvious in his face.
Rayforth resumed his seat, there was the usual slight stir and
pause, then Salett, the member for Salchester, rose.
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