The first real sorrow in Esme's life came to her with the realisation of the fact that her influence with her husband no longer sufficed to keep him steady. Gradually, so gradually that she did not suspect it until the thing was plainly manifest, he fell back upon his former habit of intemperance and became once more the drunkard whom she had first met at the Zuurberg, and pitied and despised for the weakness of his character. Hallam did not give in to his vice without a struggle; but with each lapse his will weakened, till eventually he ceased to fight his enemy, ceased even to consider the pain which he was aware he caused his wife. Esme's grief was deep, and the humiliation of realising that the thing was becoming publicly known added to her distress. Reluctantly she withdrew from social intercourse and devoted her time entirely to him, trusting that the power of love would yet prove the stronger influence. Her love for him strengthened with her recognition of his need of her: he was her child, weak and foolish and dependent,--her man and her child, whom she had to protect from himself. Matters grew worse. An inkling of the trouble reached Rose through an acquaintance of her husband who had been in Cape Town and had heard rumours of the state of affairs. Rose's first impulse was to write to her sister and ask for information direct; but on reflection she decided against this course. There flashed into her mind, as once before at the time of Esme's marriage the same memory had disturbed her peace, the picture of George Sinclair's face when he heard of Esme's engagement and the recollection of his incomprehensible agitation. Was it possible that he had known? She determined to ask him; and on the first opportunity did so, observing him attentively while she put a direct question to him. The quick distress and the absence of surprise in his look confirmed her suspicion. He had been aware of this thing all along. "You knew!" she said resentfully. "Why didn't you tell me?" "Good lord!" he exclaimed almost passionately. "It wasn't for me to say anything. She knew what she was taking on. It wouldn't have made a fraction of difference if you had done everything in your power to dissuade her. She went into it with her eyes open." "You mean that she realised she was marrying a drunkard?" "Of course she realised it. I suppose she believed she could reclaim him. For a time no doubt she did. Mrs Bainbridge, I could cheerfully kill him, if that would help matters." "It wouldn't," Rose answered practically. "Don't talk like a fool, George." "I love her," he said simply, the tears welling in his eyes. "I hate to think of her life with him. It cuts me."