The clock struck eleven. Lexy glanced up from her book, in the vain
hope that somebody would speak, would stir, would make some move to
end this intolerable evening; but nobody did.
Dr. Quelton and Captain Grey were playing chess. They sat facing each
other at a small table, in a haze of tobacco smoke, silent and intent,
as if they had been gods deciding human destinies. Mrs. Quelton lay on
her _chaise longue_, doing nothing at all. If Lexy spoke to her, she
answered in a low tone, but cheerfully enough; but she so obviously
preferred not to talk that Lexy had taken up a book and vainly
attempted to read.
It was the most wearisome and depressing evening she had ever spent.
Her lively and restless spirit had often enough found it dull at the
Enderbys’, and at other times and places; but this was different, and
infinitely worse.
To begin with, a sense of guilt lay like lead upon her heart. She
hoped and believed that what she had done was right, but she was
afraid, terribly afraid, of what might result. She could not keep her
eyes off Mrs. Quelton’s face. She watched the doctor’s wife with a
dread and anxiety which she felt was ill concealed; and she had a
chill suspicion that the doctor was watching her, in turn.
“Of course, he’s bound to find out some time,” she said to herself. “I
wasn’t such a fool as to expect more than a day or two, at the very
most; but I did hope there’d be time just to see—”
Again she glanced at Mrs. Quelton. Was it imagination, or was there
already a faint and indefinable change?
“No, that’s nonsense,” she thought. “There couldn’t be, so
soon—although I don’t know how often he gives her that priceless
tonic.”
Suddenly she wanted to laugh. She had a very vivid memory of Dr.
Quelton tapping that bottle with his finger, and saying to Captain
Grey that he had a preparation in there which would make his fortune,
if he chose.
“It wouldn’t now,” she thought, struggling with suppressed laughter.
There was nothing in that bottle now but water. Just before dinner she
had run up to the cupola, emptied its contents into the sink, and
filled it from the tap.
The idea had come to her when she overheard the two men talking. It
had seemed to her then a plain and obvious duty to destroy the drug
that so horribly affected Mrs. Quelton. Fate had allowed her to see
which bottle it was. Fate gave her an undisturbed half hour when the
doctor and Captain Grey were out; and, to make her plan quite perfect,
the liquid in the bottle was colorless and almost without odor.
She had thought it possible that the doctor would not notice the
substitution until his unhappy wife had had at least a chance to
return to a normal condition. Lexy had meant to wait and to watch,
and, when the moment came, to speak to Mrs. Quelton. She had thought
that she could warn the doctor’s wife, and implore her not to submit
to that hideous domination.
She had scarcely thought of the risk to herself, and it had not
occurred to her that there might be serious risk to Mrs. Quelton. She
knew almost nothing about drugs and their effects. Her one idea had
been to destroy the thing that was destroying Mrs. Quelton. Only now,
when it was done, did she realize the mad audacity of her act. A man
like Dr. Quelton couldn’t be tricked by such a childish device. He
would know what had happened, and who had done it. Very likely he had
plenty more of the drug somewhere else. If he hadn’t—
“He’d feel like killing me,” thought Lexy. “I suppose he could, easily
enough. He must know all sorts of nice, quiet little ways for getting
rid of obnoxious people. Perhaps there was something in my dinner
to-night!”
She dared not think of such a possibility.
“No!” she said to herself. “He asked me here just to show me how
little I mattered. He knew I’d seen Caroline here, and he asked me to
come, because he was so sure I couldn’t do anything. I’m too
insignificant for him to bother with. He knows that nobody would
believe what I said. He’d only have to say that I was hysterical, and
Captain Grey and Mrs. Royce would be obliged to bear him out. He won’t
trouble himself about me!”
She stole a glance at him, and, to her profound uneasiness, she found
him staring intently at her. A shiver ran down her spine, and she
turned back to her book with a very pale face. If only it had been an
interesting book, so that she might have forgotten herself for a
little while!
The clock struck half past eleven.
“After all, I don’t see why I have to sit here,” she thought. “I
shouldn’t exactly break up the party if I went to bed.”
And she was just about to close her book when Mrs. Quelton spoke.
“I’m so tired!” she said in a high, wailing voice. “I’m so tired—so
tired—so tired!”
Dr. Quelton hastily rose and came over to her chair.
“Then you must go to bed,” he said. “Come!”
He helped her to rise, and she stood, supported by his arm, her face
drawn and ghastly.
“I’m so tired!” she moaned.
Captain Grey came toward her, making a very poor attempt to smile.
“Good night, Muriel!” he said, holding out his hand.
She did not answer, or even look at him. Leaning on the doctor’s arm,
she went out of the room, into the hall, and up the stairs. Her
wailing voice floated back to them: “I’m so tired—so tired!”