Diary of a Drug Fiend

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