“I thought I could kid myself, but I can’t.  I want a drink.  I—­ want—­A—­drink!  God! how I want it!”

Lorelei went swiftly to him.  “The fight is just beginning, Bob.  You’re doing nobly.”

“It isn’t thirst,” he explained, and she saw that same strained uneasiness in his bright eyes.  “I’m not thirsty—­I’m shaky inside.  My ego is wabbling on its pins and I’m rattling to pieces.  I manage well enough when you’re around, but when I’m alone I—­ remember.”  She felt him twitch and shiver nervously.  “And there are so many places to get booze!  Everywhere I look I see a bartender with arms outstretched.  When I grit my teeth the damned appetite leaves me alone, but when I’m off my guard it gumshoes in again.  I get tired of fighting.”

Lorelei nodded sympathetically.  “That’s why it’s so hard to reform; one’s conscience tires, but temptation is always fresh.”

“It’s not thirst,” Bob repeated.  “My soul is dried out.  I get to thinking late at night.  I’m afraid I’m going to quit.”

“You must keep busy.”

“I’m going to work.”

“No, no!  Not yet,” she cried, quickly.  “You must fight it out where I can help.”

Bob smiled gratefully.  “You’re a thoroughbred.  I promised to let you have your way, and you shall.  Even if we lose the patient it will be a dandy operation.”

Beginning with the next morning Lorelei inaugurated a change in the domestic routine.  Every day thereafter she and Bob took a long walk.  He rebelled, of course, as soon as the novelty wore off, for he detested walking.  So did she, for that matter, but she pretended to like it, and her simulated zest overcame his reluctance.  They did not amble aimlessly about the streets; she led him on purposeful tramps that kept them in the open air most of the day, and, although her feet blistered until she could hardly drag herself to the theater when night came, she persisted.  In time the walking grew to be a dreadful task; it took all her determination, but she would not give up.

With admirable craft she gradually won him away from the cafes, assuming delight in household duties that she was far from feeling.  In reality she was a wretched cook, but she declared her intention of becoming an expert and insisted upon preparing at least two of their daily meals, at which time she saw to it that Bob ate more sweets and more salt foods than he was accustomed to.  The former took the place of alcohol, the latter roused a healthy thirst, and thirsty men drink water.  These were only little things; her heaviest task lay in keeping his mind occupied.  At times this was easy; again the effort wore her out.  Bob began to have surly spells.

For the first time in her life Lorelei really worked, and worked not for herself, but for another.  Although the experience was interesting in its novelty, the result remained unsatisfactory, for not only did love fail to respond to these sacrifices, but she could see no improvement in Bob’s condition.  The thing she fought was impalpable, yet enormous; it was weak, yet strong; it seemed to sleep, yet it was ever awake.