160 The Light That Failed for that he had ever sent Torpenhow away and ruined her life. “Well,” said Dick, brutally, “you’re better as you are, instead of making love to some drunken beast in the street.” He felt that he had rescued Torpenhow from great temptation. “I don’t know if that’s any worse than sitting to a drunken beast in a studio. You haven’t been sober for three weeks. You’ve been soaking the whole time; and yet you pretend you’re better than me!” “What d’you mean?” said Dick. “Mean! You'll see when Mr. Torpenhow comes back.” It was not long to wait. Torpenhow met Bessie on the staircase without a sign of feeling. He had news that was more to him than many Bessies, and the Keneu and the Nilghai were trampling behind him, calling for Dick. “Drinking like a fish,” Bessie whispered. “He’s been at it for nearly a month.” She followed the men stealthily to hear judgment done. They came into the studio, rejoicing, to be welcomed over effusively by a drawn, lined, shrunken, haggard wreck, — unshaven, blue-white about the nostrils, stooping in the shoulders, and peering under his eyebrows nervously. The drink had been at work as steadily as Dick. “Is this you?” said Torpenhow. “All that’s left of me. Sit down. Binkie’s quite well, and I’ve been doing some good work.” He reeled where he stood. “You've done some of the worst work you’ve ever done in your life. Man alive, you’re —” Torpenhow turned to his companions appealingly, and they left the room to find lunch elsewhere. Then he spoke; but, since the reproof of a friend is much too sacred and intimate a thing to be printed, and since