If Wilbraham could have made up his mind to tell Lady Brent everything, he would have been able to gain from her some consolation in return. He needed it at this time. She was the only person who knew of his temptation, and she had been good to him about it in the past. The poor man was going through a bad time on his own account. Perhaps he was just emerging from it, but its effects were still heavy on him. After seeing Viola and her father together, in an atmosphere so different from that in which he had first seen Bastian alone, he had had a vivid sense of shame, which had increased after he had seen Harry. The idealism of their fresh youth had made his own lapse look very ugly to him, and still more the knowledge which he had not admitted to himself until later that he was still playing with the idea of drinking with Bastian, though rejecting the possibility of being caught once more in the toils. But the toils had caught him, though that first glass of whisky that he had drunk with Bastian had also been the last. Village gossip, if it connected his name with that of Bastian as a big drinker, had done him an injustice. He had gone to see Bastian two or three times, and had told him straight out the first time the truth about himself. Bastian had treated the confidence with ready sympathy, and Wilbraham had never seen the whisky bottle while he was with him. He had said that he didn’t really care about it himself, which Wilbraham took as a speech of politeness. If there was foundation for village gossip, he must have given cause for it at other times of the day. Bastian might be able to drink or refrain from drinking at pleasure, but for poor Wilbraham the mischief had been done with that one glass. He had had periods of longing of late years, always at rarer intervals, but none of them had been so strong as this. He was tortured; sometimes he was on the point of asking Bastian for God’s sake to give him something. He was drawn there in a way he could not explain; his irritated brain rejected reasoning, and he would not keep away. It was certainly the fact that he had drunk spirits at the cottage that attracted him, and yet he was fighting the desire all the time. But once again he talked to Viola there, and he had thoughts of Harry always before him. When for the last time he saw Bastian and said good-bye to him he knew that the danger of a fall was over. But the craving had continued. Bastian had been gone nearly a month, and he still felt it, though now it was at last getting weaker. There was no danger of falling at Royd. There was no public house there, no wine or spirits were drunk at the Castle, and he had attained enough mastery of himself to have no temptation to go further where he could get drink.