“Iss, iss, lad,” said old Zebedee, his face glowing under the effects of hot punch and the efforts of hospitality.  “That’s well said.  Set to with a will, and you’ll catch us up yet.”

During the laughter called forth by this challenge, Joan took another opportunity of speaking.  “Why, what be ’bout, Adam?” she said, seeing how unlike his speech and action were to his usual self.  “Doan’t ’ee go and cut off your naws to spite yer face, now.  Eve’s close by here.  Her’s as sorry as anythin’, her is:  her wouldn’t ha’ gone out for twenty pounds if her’d knawed it.”

“I wish you’d hold yer tongue,” said Adam:  “I’ve told you I’m goin’ to stop here.  Be off with you, now!”

But Joan, bent on striving to keep him from an excess to which she saw exasperation was goading him, made one more effort.  “Awh, Adam,” she said, “do ’ee come now.  Eve—­”

“Eve be—­”

But before the word had well escaped his lips Joan’s hand was clapped over his mouth.  Too late, for Eve had come up behind them, and as Adam turned his head to shake Joan off he found himself face to face before her, and the look of outraged love she fixed upon him made his heart quail within him.  What could he do? what should he say?  Nothing now, for before he could gather up his senses she had passed by him and was gone.

A sickening feeling came over Adam, and he could barely put his lips to the glass which, in order to avert attention, he had caught up and raised to his mouth.  At a blow all the resolutions he had forced himself to were upset and scattered, for he had returned with the reckless determination of plunging into whatever dissipation chanced to be going on.

He had roamed about, angry and tormented, until the climax of passion was succeeded by an overpowering sense of gloom, to get away from which he had determined to abandon himself, and, flinging all restraint aside, sink down to that level over which the better part of his nature had vainly tried to soar.  But now, in the feeling of degradation which Eve’s eyes had flashed upon him, the grossness of these excesses came freshly before him, and the knowledge that even in thought he had entertained them made him feel lowered in his own eyes; and if in his eyes, how must he look in hers?

Without a movement he knew every time that she entered the room:  he heard her exchange words with some of those present, applaud a song of Barnabas Tadd’s, answer a question of Uncle Zebedee’s, and, sharpest thorn of all, stand behind Jerrem’s chair, talking to him while some of the roughest hits were being made at his own mistaken judgment in holding back those who were ready to have “sunk the Looe boats and all aboard ’em.”