"
"It is _not!_ And I'm getting sick of this eternal business of
criticising me before visitors!" He had worked himself up to such a
state that his arms and shoulders were visibly trembling. "You'd think
everything was my fault. You'd think you hadn't encouraged me to spend
money--and spent a lot more on yourself than I ever did by a long shot."
Now Gloria rose to her feet.
"I _won't_ let you talk to me that way!"
"All right, then; by Heaven, you don't have to!"
In a sort of rush he left the room. The two women heard his steps in the
hall and then the front door banged. Gloria sank back into her chair.
Her face was lovely in the lamplight, composed, inscrutable.
"Oh--!" cried Muriel in distress. "Oh, what _is_ the matter?"
"Nothing particularly. He's just drunk."
"Drunk? Why, he's perfectly sober. He talked----"
Gloria shook her head.
"Oh, no, he doesn't show it any more unless he can hardly stand up, and
he talks all right until he gets excited. He talks much better than he
does when he's sober. But he's been sitting here all day
drinking--except for the time it took him to walk to the corner for a
newspaper.
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