Mr. Cecil had begun to feel like a family friend. He felt himself a sort of uncle to this brilliant boy, so shadowed by woe, so eager to escape out of the shadow. It was his mission, clearly, to aid in this cure, physical and mental, of sunlight.
“No, never,” said he, “only you and your wife and your father. A privilege!”
Colin drank the hospitable cocktail that stood at his elbow. His definite plans were yet in the making, but he began to suspect that alcohol in various forms would be connected with them. He had the Stanier head as regards drink; it only seemed to collect and clarify his wits, and he remembered that Mr. Cecil, on that night which he had spent alone here, had quickly passed through joviality and perhaps want of dignity, to bland somnolence.... He got up with an air of briskness and mutual understanding.
“I’m not going to be a wet-blanket, Mr. Cecil,” he said. “I’ve told you enough to make you see that I pine for enjoyment again. That little restaurant where you and I went before--may we dine there again? I want to see other people enjoying themselves, and I want the sun. Those are my medicines; be a kind, good doctor to me.”
Mr. Cecil’s treatment, so he congratulated himself, seemed wonderfully efficacious that evening. Colin cast all sad thoughts behind him, and between one thing and another, and specially between one drink and another, it was after twelve o’clock before they returned from their dinner to Mr. Cecil’s flat again. Even then, a story was but half-told, and Mr. Cecil drew his keys from his pocket to unlock a very private drawer where there were photographs about which he now felt sure Colin would be sympathetic.
“You’ll like them,” he giggled, as he produced these prints. “Help yourself, Colin. I see they have put out some whisky for us.”
“Oh, Lord, how funny,” said Colin looking at what Mr. Cecil shewed him. “But I can’t drink unless you do. Say when, Mr. Cecil.”
Mr. Cecil was looking at the next photograph, and Colin took advantage of his preoccupation. The big bunch of keys by which this private, this very private, drawer was opened still dangled from the lock.
“And this one,” said Mr. Cecil, applying himself to the liberal dose.
“But what a glorious creature,” said Colin. “May I help myself?”