To-night they say he will be conscious. Smith, now, being more than half-seas over, became very uproarious, and, claiming the attention of the table, volunteered the following DRINKING SONG. He uttered one word over and over, monotonously: "Fool! … Fool!" But invariably the touch of Ruth's hand quieted him, and his head would cease to roll from side to side. It drives one mad at times. Jerking forward, she jabbed backwards. He wondered why she thought love made people happy, and began to talk of the smilax and pinks that adorned the table. He sat down beside her just as the room became darker. (What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walking beside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours. Eventually this comradeship (slightly resented by Rollo) reached a point where he could call out from the study: "Hey, Ruth!—come and tell me what you think of this.
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