He looked long at them; then suddenly exclaimed:  “U, P, A, S!  Why, it is the Upas tree; the deadly, mysterious, poisonous Upas tree!  I found it in the jungle.  I felt ill the night I camped beneath it.  I have never felt quite well since.  The nightmares began on that night; and the nightmares have followed me home.  This is the worst of all.  Helen calls me the Upas tree—­the poisoner of her content.  Utterly, preposterously, altogether, selfish!”

He turned on the electric lights, and walked up and down the room, with desperate, restless tread.

“Poisoning all it touches,” he said.  “Blasting the life of all who pass beneath its deadly foliage—­U,P,A,S—­Upas.”

He paused before the great mirror, gazing at his own reflection.

He put his face quite close to the glass, staring into his burning eyes.

Then he struck at the reflection with his clenched fist.  “Upas tree!” he snarled.  “Take that, and be damned!”

He had hurt his knuckles.  He walked back to the fire, rubbing them carefully with his left hand.

“Poor old chap,” he said.  “It is hard lines!  You meant well; but all the while you were a Upas tree. ’I, Helen, take thee, Upas, to be my wedded husband.’  Poor lovely Helen!  What a bargain!”

He sat down in a deep basket-chair, lighted a cigarette, pushed another chair into position, exactly in front of him, with his foot; then filling it, one by one, with friends of his own and Helen’s, held conversation with them.

“Quite right, my dear Mrs. Dalmain!  You need not now confine yourself to looking your disapproval; you can say exactly what you think.  You see, Helen herself has told me the worst truth of all.  I am a Upas tree.  She sums me up thus:  U, P, A, S!  You can hardly beat that, Mrs. Dalmain.  In fact, you look distressed.  I can see that your kind heart is sorry for me.  Helen said you were a wonderful person to turn to in trouble.  There is no one in the world quite like you.  Well, now’s your chance to prove it; for surely nobody ever came to you in more desperate trouble.  If you wish to be really kind and comforting, talk to me of my wife.  Say how sweet and lovely she is.  Say that her arms are tender, her eyes gentle and kind.  I am the thirsty traveller in the desert, who sights pure water, hastens eagerly forward, and finds—­a mirage!  But a deadly stream flows from the roots of the Upas—­Hullo!  Here comes Aubrey Treherne.  Look out, Mrs. Dalmain!  He owes you a grudge.  Hey, presto!  Vanish from the chair, or Helen’s cousin will lean over, with a bleeding face, threatening to kill you with both hands!...

“Good-evening, Cousin Aubrey.  How is your lip to-night?  You mustn’t kiss Helen again, until that lip is well.  Helen will be ashamed of you for not being able to put fuel into a stove without knocking your lip.  Fie, man!  Poor happy Ronnie, going home to show his wife his ’cello, believed you.  But the Upas tree knows!  You can’t deceive the Upas tree, you liar!  You may as well tell Helen that you wounded your lip on a branch of her Upas tree....