"All sorts of trouble. Don't you say anything to the family, but I'm
all gone to pieces. I'm a mess, Edith."

His lower lip was sagging. He seemed scarcely to see her.

"Can't you--can't you," she hesitated, "can't you tell me about it,
Gordon? You know I'm always interested in you."

She bit her lip--she had intended to say something stronger, but found
at the end that she couldn't bring it out.

Gordon shook his head dully. "I can't tell you. You're a good woman. I
can't tell a good woman the story."

"Rot," she said, defiantly. "I think it's a perfect insult to call any
one a good woman in that way. It's a slam. You've been drinking,
Gordon."

"Thanks." He inclined his head gravely. "Thanks for the information."

"Why do you drink?"

"Because I'm so damn miserable."

"Do you think drinking's going to make it any better?"

"What you doing--trying to reform me?"

"No; I'm trying to help you, Gordon. Can't you tell me about it?"