As a result of Annie's visit, the complexion of affairs in John Street took a more favourable colour, while those in Washington Square assumed a more tragic hue. Annie, despite her bitter words about Rachel, was not actively jealous of her. Now she was comforted by Simon's sympathy, which she felt; for between these two unhappy souls there was a bond of shy understanding. Also, Rachel's ill-considered words produced a certain lightness in Annie and she concluded that they would not be allowed to suffer because of Emil's extravagance. Upon Rachel, the result of the interview was otherwise. Seldom had she experienced a more desperate mood than that which assailed her after Annie had quitted the house. More than once she went to Simon's study determined to speak her mind, but the door remained steadfastly closed against her. As it was Saturday, Simon did not return to the shop in the afternoon, nor did he emerge from the study at dinner time, and Theresa, with a sly rolling of the eye in her mistress's direction, prepared a tray for him. Simon always expressed his anger by an increase of coldness and silence and by shutting himself up in this way. "He's in there," Rachel reflected, "thinking and drinking." And she preferred the liquor, the effect of which she had often noted, to his thoughts, the effect of which she could not calculate. Until a late hour she heard him walking backward and forward with irregular steps over the echoing floor, and it was after midnight when his door opened and he descended the stairs. This was an old-fashioned house with a cellar and there the wine was kept. It was to the cellar she knew he had gone. Determined to seize the opportunity of speaking to him, she threw a wrapper over her nightdress and hurried after him through the darkened house. He had turned on the light in the hanging electric bulb, and when she came upon him he was standing before a table on which was placed a case of wine. In all probability he had been drinking brandy and was finishing with claret. To her surprise, as if actuated by mere thirsty impatience, she saw him strike off the neck of a bottle. This action in a man of his fastidious habits was big with meaning. He lifted the bottle to his lips, his head flung back. He did not see her until she touched his arm. "Simon," she cried, "this can't go on!" Thinking she referred to the liquor, he set down the bottle and regarded her with an abashed and amazed look. His long face, without its usual mask, was fairly pitiful. Later he would not be able to forgive her for surprising him in this way. But she was bent solely on making her confession.