Part 33 (2/2)
Lothian lay thinking.
The lucid statement was perfectly clear to him and absorbingly interesting in its psychology. He was a profound psychologist himself, though he did not apply his theories personally, a spectator of others, turning away from the contemplation of himself during the past years in secret terror of what he might find there.
How new this was, yet how true. It shed a flood of light upon so much that he had failed to understand!
”Thank you,” he said simply. ”I feel certain that what you say is true.”
Morton Sims nodded with pleasure. ”Perhaps nothing is quite true,” he said, ”but I think we are getting as near truth in these matters as we can. What we have to do, is to let the whole of the public know too.
When once it is thoroughly understood what Inebriety is, then the remedy will be applied, the only remedy.”
”And that is?”
”I'll tell you our theories at my next visit. You must be quiet now.”
”But there are a dozen questions I want to ask you--and my own case?”
”I am sending you some medicine, and we will talk more next time. And, if you like, I will send you a paper upon the Psychology of the Alcoholic, which I read the other day before the Society for the Study of Alcoholism. It may interest you. But don't necessarily take it all for gospel! I'm only feeling my way.”
”I'll compare it with such experiences as I have had--though of course I'm not what you'd call an _inebriate_.” There was a lurking undercurrent of suspicion creeping into his voice once more.
”Of course not! Did I ever say so, Mr. Lothian! But what you propose will be of real value to me, if I may have your conclusions.”
Lothian was flattered. He would show this great scientist how entirely capable he could be of understanding and appreciating his researches.
He would collaborate with him. It would be new and exhilarating!
”I'll make notes,” he replied, ”and please use them as you will!”
The doctor rose. ”Thanks,” he answered. ”It will be a help. But what we really require is an alcoholic De Quincey to detail in his graphic manner the memories of his past experiences--a man who has the power and the courage to lay open the cravings and the writhings of his former slavery, and to compare them with his emanc.i.p.ated self.”
Lothian started. When the kindly, keen-faced man had gone, he lay long in thought.
In the afternoon Mary came to him. ”Do you mind if I leave you for an hour or two, dear?” she asked. ”I have some things to get and I thought I would drive into Wordingham.”
”Of course not, I shall be quite all right.”
”Well, be sure and ring for anything you want.”
”Very well. I shall probably sleep. By the way, I thought of asking d.i.c.kson Ingworth down for a few days. There are some duck about, you know, and he can bring his gun.”
”Do, darling, if you would like him.”
”Very well, then. I wonder if you'd write a note for me, explaining that I'm in bed, but shall be up to-morrow. Supposing you ask him to come in a couple of days.”
”Yes, I will,” she replied, kissing him with her almost maternal, protective air, ”and I'll post it in Wordingham.”
When she had left the room he began to smoke slowly.
He felt a certain irritation at all this love and regard, a discontent.
Mary was always the same. With his knowledge of her, he could predict with absolute accuracy what she would do in almost every given moment.
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