284 The Diary of a Drug Fiend
gets an idea about something, and it’s too much trouble
to change it.
She, on her side, had only half recognised me; and
goodness knows she needed no excuse for that.
“‘ We heard you were in London,” she began volubly,
in a tone which somehow rang false, ‘‘ and of course I
couldn’t rest till I had come and welcomed you and
Lou in person. We heard you were in a little place
in Greek Street from one of the crowd; but you had
gone the very morning I called, and they told us you
were ill and couldn’t see any one for a week. But Billy
Bray and Lady Rhoda came in last night and said they’d
seen you at a dance. So I wouldn’t waste a minute in
coming to see you.”
She rattled off all this as if she was in a violent hurry,
punctuating her remarks by kissing Lou extravagantly.
I could see that Lou resented the woman even more
than I did, but she naturally took care not to show it.
Hanging fatuously on the outskirts of the group was
no less a person than the famous philanthropist, Jabez
Platt. But he, too, had changed since we had seen
him at the time of our marriage. Then he had been the
very type of a smug, prosperous, contented Chadband ;
a placid patriarch with an air of disinterested benevolence
and unassuming sanctity. If ever a man was at peace
with himself and the world, it was Mr. Jabez Platt on
the occasion of our first meeting.
But to-day, he was a very different individual indeed.
He seemed to have shrunk. His black clothes had
fitted him like the skin of a well-conditioned porpoise.
Now they hung loosely like a toad’s. He resembled
that animal in several other respects. The virtue had
somehow gone out of him. There was a hungry, hunted
look in his eyes. Of course, I could see instantly what
was the matter with him; he had been taking heroin.
‘“‘ Dear me,” thought I, for my dislike for the creature
was instinctive, “ how are the mighty fallen!”
Excuse a digression. There is a great deal of
discussion about various pleasures—whether they are