...

But, like the tide, it ebbed at last, particularly when a sleepless night had exhausted him.
He had gone back to his shooting again after a cool review of the ethics involved.

It even amused him to think that the whimsical sermon delivered him by a girl who had cleverness enough to marry many millions, with Quarrier thrown in, could have so moved him to sentimentality.

He had ceded the big cup of antique silver to Quarrier, too--a matter which troubled him little, however, as in the irritation of the reaction he had been shooting with the brilliancy of a demon; and the gun-room books were open to any doubting guests' inspection.
Time, therefore, was never heavy on his hands, save when the tide threatened--when at night he stirred and awoke, conscious of its crawling advance, aware of its steady mounting menace.

Moments at table, when the aroma of wine made him catch his breath, moments in the gun-room redolent of spicy spirits; a maddening volatile fragrance clinging to the card-room, too! Yes, the long days were filled with such moments for him.
But afield the desire faded; and even during the day, indoors, he shrugged desire aside.