When Dempster awoke in the morning, he was at no loss to account to
himself for the fact that Janet was not by his side. His hours of
drunkenness were not cut off from his other hours by any blank wall of
oblivion; he remembered what Janet had done to offend him the evening
before, he remembered what he had done to her at midnight, just as he
would have remembered if he had been consulted about a right of road.
The remembrance gave him a definite ground for the extra ill-humour which
had attended his waking every morning this week, but he would not admit
to himself that it cost him any anxiety. 'Pooh,' he said inwardly, 'she
would go straight to her mother's. She's as timid as a hare; and she'll
never let anybody know about it. She'll be back again before night.'
But it would be
