The drunker he got, the clearer it all seemed. And then suddenly his tired brain gave way. He fell forward and buried his face in his hands. He knew now and he began to weep drunkenly. He knew now, because he had learned in a strange way during the darkness of the slate-colored house. He knew why it was that he had had to see Mary Conyngham; he knew why he had walked with her into the open country. He was in love with Mary Conyngham; he had been in love with her ever since he could remember. And it was Naomi who shared his bed.
Disgust enveloped him in physical sickness, and the old desire to wash himself in cold water returned passionately. What Krylenko had said was true. "You ain't like these two—just a couple of hogs." Krylenko knew with that shining look in his blue eyes. Krylenko had his Giulia, and he, Philip, had nothing . . . less than nothing, for he had bound himself in a terrible, sickening fashion to Naomi. It was all horrible. He was drunk and he wanted suddenly to die.
Some one touched his shoulder, and he raised his head. It was Hennessey, looking down at him out of the cold blue eyes.
"Look here," he said. "You're drunk enough. Get out of here and go home. Your Ma is Emma Downes, and I don't want to get mixed up with a hell-cat like her."
For a second Philip was blinded by rage. He wanted to kill Hennessey for the insult to his mother. He tried to get up, but he only knocked his glass on the floor, and then fell down beside it. He tried again to rise, and then Hennessey, cursing, bent over and picked him up as if he'd been a child, and carried him, plow-
